A Study in Madness
by Hughesish
Summary: Sherlock is a werewolf. Almost speaks for it's self, right? Well there's going to be some serious smut in later chapters, fluffy johnlock for sure, and some possesive/protective Sherlock. Dont like, don't read.
1. Chapter 1

**Chp 1**

**OK, not expecting a lot of views but, ya know, hope you enjoy. Obviously I don't own these characters, they are not mine, if they were we'd all be in a much scarier place. If you like, let me know, my ego always enjoys a good stroke ;) **

_Fear, pain, panic, sweat, and blood. The scent of the five swirled together in a terrifying mixture and filled Sherlock's lungs with each of his short gasping breaths. The pain and shear terror were horribly real, and yet this simply couldn't be real. Sherlock had always been a boy who relied on the facts, and not one to crack under pressure. So why was it, that he was now pinned beneath what could only be described as the most terrifying beast he'd ever encountered. It was a massive creature with sharp fangs and a cruel snarl, and yet only moments ago it had been his neighbor, hadn't it? Sherlock's body writhed with pain as the wound on his shoulder throbbed. The blood loss was severe and his vision began to blur, and as he slowly lost consciousness he couldn't help but think that if he survived there was no way he'd be normal again. _

Sherlock originally had only said anything about a flat mate in passing when the bowling ball of a man Mike had been questioning his moving. Sherlock needed a new place after he nearly tore his last one down in a fit of rage. Needless to say the land lord had had enough and simply told him he had one month. It bothered Sherlock that he was at the mercy of these pointless mood swings. He hated his emotions, they didn't offer any helpful qualities, and were normally destructive. Sherlock spent many years trying to push away these useless things in favor of more interesting things, such as his various experiments. However being a werewolf did make handling emotion harder, more so during the full moon. Worse yet is that it also came with an insatiable appetite, just another hindrance to pursuing far more interesting things. He blocked out his gnawing hunger as well because he hated the wolf inside him, which made him so unmanageable. After the change even his own mother grew tired of his restless behavior. It wasn't Sherlock's fault; the wolf was full of energy, always ready for the hunt. So when Mike actually showed up with this smaller man, obviously as a potential flat mate, he was quiet perplexed.

Could Sherlock Holmes even be capable of tolerating a human being at such great lengths? Less likely, could a sane person tolerate him? Admittedly part of him just liked the idea of having someone so close, so able to figure out his long kept secret, and be able to hide it from them just as well. He deduced the basics of the man, and he couldn't deny that he was a bit impressed. Such an unassuming man and yet clearly he had some admirable talents. What really did him in though was the smell. He made the mistake of taking in a deep breath through his nostrils and being filled with the smell of John Watson. A deep earthy smell mixed with just a bit of gun oil, marvelous. There was no way he was going back now; Sherlock couldn't go another day with out being able to wake up to that smell every morning. He was drawn to John in a way he had never felt before, and it stirred something deep in his gut. He nearly growled with excitement when the man had finally agreed to move in with him.

The nature of his feelings were a bit of a mystery to him at first, but after his encounter with Moriarty they became quiet obvious. He was falling madly and hopelessly in love with John, and there was nothing he could do about it. He was growing closer and closer to the man. And that was dangerous for all parties involved. His brother had warned him before he even began this endeavor, told him John was a good man, not to drag him into Sherlock's "madness". Words that were ignored at the time but now haunted him in an annoying fashion. Sherlock had allowed him into his heart, and now he either had to let him go, or cage him in. Because once he opened the floodgates there was no stopping him, John would have no choice but to stay, Sherlock wouldn't let him go. Part of him feared that he had already trapped John, since he couldn't see himself letting John walk out of his life, even if it was to protect him from the truth. Protect him from the fact that Sherlock Holmes, the consulting detective was a full fledged werewolf.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chp 2**

**Wow, on to chapter two! Things should be getting better now, or at least I hope! Once again, don't own any rights to these characters! **

"Sherlock"

John called out and Sherlock was instantly awoken from another failed attempt to meditate all these frenzied emotions away. It would be much easier to block out his love for John if the man didn't insist on barging in all the time carrying that intoxicating scent with him.

"Yes John? I'm in the middle of something."

John let out an adorable huff of breath. It was agitated, but lacked feeling. John was used to Sherlock, no matter how annoying he was; he'd grown used to it by now and was long passed any true annoyance. He stood a moment at the entrance of Sherlock's room, studying Sherlock's back as he sit facing the wall in an odd position that made John's limbs ache just looking at the man. Sherlock shivered feeling John's eyes rake over his frame and silently begged him to stop because it was hard enough already not to pounce his little room mate with out him looking at him like that.

"Yes, well, it seems you left whilst in the middle of something else."

He sighed, obviously referring to the experiment Sherlock left in the kitchen. What John failed to realize (or didn't care to mention) was that the boxers Sherlock had decided to boil in order to test the dissolve of cotton fibers in varying temperatures, were in fact John's. Sherlock didn't own any so it was the logical choice, however he hadn't counted on the overwhelming smells and urges that came with those smells. It took all his will power to shut himself in his room and to not go up stairs and hump his flat mate senseless.

"Oh, that. Boring, lost interest. Feel free to shut it off."

"Why don't you? You started it, and made a mess of it too I might add. Some of the water had boiled over onto the stove top. I haven't the time to clean up your mess any way; I'm meeting up with Sarah."

"Sarah."

Oh, how he loathed that woman. She had John, got to hold him, caress him, and share a bed with him. She was unworthy to say the least. She was so boring, John could do far better. Sherlock hoped John wouldn't notice the way he tensed up and clenched his fists. His flat mate couldn't understand the rage he felt towards that stupid wench.

"Yes, Sarah. I-uh-well I've gotta break it off with her. She just…well she's sweet but really I can't keep letting her get wrapped up in all our drama. Not fair to her ya know."

Sherlock almost jumped up and kissed the man, had he read his mind? This was perfect, no more Sarah tagging along or hogging all of John's time, No more putting her hands on what was rightfully Sherlock's.

"Oh, well, I'm sorry to hear that John. I'll be sure to clean that mess up before your return"

A small token of gratitude for his lovely little flat mate.

"Really? Wow, didn't expect that. Well, good. I'll be back in a bit, depending on how things go of course."

"Of course. Take your time, no rush in wounding a broken heart doctor, I'm sure the news won't be taken lightly. Although it truly must be done."

"Right…I'll pick up milk on the way back."

"Splendid."

Sherlock didn't budge until he heard the front door click shut. He then sprung up had himself a bit of a victory dance. With Sara out of the picture he could have so much more of John. God, how he longed to have all of John, body and soul. He craved John more than he had craved any drug. Those he took to dull his senses, John, John put them on overload, and god help him he loved it. He rushed out to find the mess John had referred to. Sherlock grabbed a wad of paper towels and sopped up the liquid quickly and then tossed the soaked papers. He dumped the water and the boxers into the sink and threw in the pot as well. Reaching back into the sink he fished out John's very wet and still slightly warm boxers. He wrung the underwear to release the water it had retained, however it also released some of it's strong and over powering John smell. Stupid! He should have known better, he stumbled back a few steps. Once his footing was regained he looked down at the fisted pair of boxers. The scent they held of horrifyingly powerful. Sherlock stared at the grey fabric and began to imagine it pulled taunt over John's strong hips. The fibers cradling John's manhood, and absorbing its heady scent. God, that really was too much, he was torturing himself honestly.

He was stroking the fabric absent mindedly but started to become aware that the motion was stirring up a rather painful erection. He had started to become used to erections associated with John, so this wasn't all too surprising. He looked to the boxers and then down to his hardening member. He knew it was wrong, but if it would prevent him from forcefully dry humping John then it was probably for the best.

He retreated back to his room and quickly discarded of his pants. Wrapping his penis with John's boxers he then began to pump.

"Oh, John…"

John returned not a half hour later, nearly catching Sherlock mid orgasm. He seemed upset by the weight in his foot steps Sherlock was more than curious as to why he could be so troubled. He stepped out of his bedroom to meet his friend at the door with newly dawned pants.

"John, how did it-"

He stopped instantly when he saw the flush in his face and the unmistakable signs that John had been crying.

"John, what happened?"

Sherlock felt is blood turn to ice, what could have distressed his friend so? He didn't want to acknowledge all of the horrible scenarios that filled his head. He stepped closer and held out a hesitant hand, not sure what the right course of action would be.

"She-well she wasn't all to broken up about the break up let's just say that."

He tore off his coat and shoved it into the closet.

"What? How-what do you mean?"

Sherlock was at a loss because he couldn't even begin to fathom the loss and hurt he would feel if John told him that they were no longer an item. John huffed passed him and plopped himself on the couch. After a shaky breath he spoke again.

"I went over to her place, figured I'd stop by and just break the news to her quick and easy. Granted I was five minutes early, but that hardly changes things. I was about to knock on the door when I heard her yelp. I instantly thought the worst, of course, my stupid PTSD. I barged in and found her screwing some bloke on her sofa. The same bloody one she'd have me sleep on. I was so embarrassed. She knew I was coming over, did she really forget? Am I that forgettable? Jesus-well I just rushed out. I walked back though, needed to calm down. Clear my head. I mean…I knew things couldn't last, but I didn't realize I meant so little ya know? What am I saying, I don't even blame her, I'm just boring ol' John Watson, the guy who got her dragged into life threatening situations every other day. She's better off, good for her she's already found someone better."

John stared off, unable to meet eyes with Sherlock who stood in shock. He tried to process what john had just said but it seemed insane. There was no way anyone could do such a thing to John, cause him such pain. Sherlock walked over to his side and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"John…what do you need me to do?"

Sherlock was inexperienced when it came to relationships but he desperately wanted to comfort John. Wanted to touch him, hug him, kiss him. He wanted to take all the pain out of those deep blue eyes. At the same time he also wanted to tear Sarah's throat out for causing that pain. He wanted John to be rid of Sarah, but not like this, not with John sad.

"Nothing Sherlock, there's nothing you can do. What's done is done. I'd just like to be alone a bit in my room perhaps. I'm kind of tired."

"Of course John."

Sherlock watched as Jon slumped into his bedroom. The door shut with a tiny click filled with thousands of tiny sighs. Sherlock crept up to the door only to hear sniffles and short breaths. John was so affected by this Sarah woman's betrayal. It wasn't so surprising though, John was exceptionally loyal; it would make sense for him to expect some loyalty in return. Loyalty Sherlock would, and did, provide. He heard the creek of bed springs as John lowered himself onto his bed. Sherlock thought about getting up but quickly dismissed the idea because other than keeping a watchful eye on John, he could only think to go out and find Sarah and do unspeakable things to her. He shook a bit feeling the wolf take a hold of him for a brief second, longing to sink his fangs in the woman's traitorous flesh.

He sat and listened to John's breath even out and become slower with sleep. Sherlock sighed and leaned up against the door. Through it he could hear with his heightened senses John's steady heart beat thumping under his broad chest. The sound was mesmerizing and slowly lolled Sherlock to sleep. Sarah could be dealt with another day, when he wasn't so emotionally invested. For now he would rest, and with some luck be able to imagine that it was not a door, but John's inviting chest he was leaning on listening to those beats.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chp 3**

**Warning! Serious Johnlock! What will happen? Read on! Just a friendly reminder, I don't own these characters, in fact I don't own a damn thing.**

It couldn't have taken more than a second for Sherlock to wake up. His best friend and recently scandalized flat mate was all but screaming. Sherlock scrambled to his feet and forced the door open. He was met by a sleeping John twisting underneath his covers. His hands clenched and grasping desperately at his sheets and his head thrashing left to right. Sherlock bolted to his side, not sure what to do. John had nightmares, but normally while Sherlock wasn't around. No, Sherlock was normally out of the house because when the moon was high, Sherlock lost a bit of himself to the wolf, lost some of his control. When Sherlock lost some of that control, he didn't like to be around people, especially the one man who always had him feeling he was out of control. It was only 12, and there was plenty of moon and lack of control left for the night, but there wasn't time to worry about that. John was distressed by a subconscious threat and Sherlock needed to intervene.

"John!"

He called out hoping to pull the older man from his vivid dreams.

"John, you're asleep!"

This time he placed a hand on John's shoulder. John Jolted out from his sleep and almost leapt from his bed. Sherlock held him down though, now each hand on a shoulder, and looked into those stormy eyes. Luckily he was substantially stronger than any human and could easily subdue John.

"John, it's Sherlock, You're at 221b. You're home."

John seemed to ease up a bit and his eyes began to focus clearly to meet the detectives gaze. Sherlock gave a weak smile and tightened his grip a bit.

"She-what time is it? Did I wake you?"

He asked blinking a few times, adjusting his sight and rejoining the waking world.

"No-well, yes, but its ok. I don't mind. Are you going to be ok?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine"

Sherlock searched John's eyes for a hint of anything to the contrary. He was just met with John's warm stare. Sherlock once again gave a weak smile, he couldn't stand the thought of John in stress so leaving with out making sure he was 100% ok, was unacceptable.

"Really Sherlock"

He reached a hand up to Sherlock's right, placed on the left of those sturdy shoulders. The contact of those calloused fingers clasping onto Sherlock's long smooth ones, nearly made him gasp. The pressure sent warmth pulsing from his had directly to his chest.

"John…if you need anything, let me know ok? I worry about you."

At that he rushed out because really these emotions were over running his system and it was making him fear what poor decisions he might make while alone with a certain army doctor this late at night. John blinked for a few beats until a slow and warm smile spread across his face, Sherlock Holmes, the great detective, was worried about little old John Watson. Well if that didn't bring a smile to his face, nothing would.

Three agonizingly painful days later, Sherlock was sitting on the couch with his legs drawn up to his chest and arms clasped around them tightly. The past few days had been agonizing because his senses were heightening as the full moon approached and he longed to expel these excess emotions and overwhelming sensory inputs. John definitely wasn't making things better with the way he'd cozied up to Sherlock after their late night encounter. Under normal circumstances Sherlock uses almost the entirety of his will power to restrain himself, to hold back from John. Now John was pushing it. He was single again, too inviting, and was around the flat much more. What's worse is that the girlfriend had been his boss so he didn't have a job any more (John had decided it was far too awkward given what had happened). He was there all the time, filling Sherlock's senses with John. It was horribly tempting, Sherlock nearly wept when John had sat next to him on the sofa the night before. Just plopped right there beside him, like it wasn't torture enough to be across the room from the man! John's unmistakable scent had filled his nose and lungs, Sherlock had shuddered visibly. John's concern made him feel warm and fuzzy; he could hear the sincerity in his voice, that kind doctor voice John had that put anybody at ease, even Sherlock.

Sherlock snapped back to the present, it was bad enough these thoughts consumed him when John was near, but this was time that should be spent trying to solve his predicament, not make it worse. He let out a deep sigh, the kind that would cause John to quirk his left brow in that adorable fashion. Stop it! He really had to get a handle on this. The full moon was soon and things were getting dangerously out of control, he didn't want to think of what he might do to the good doctor if these thoughts persisted. Well, that wasn't completely true, he did, and that was the problem.

"Don't mind me Sherlock, I've got it."

John sighed as he entered the flat, grocery bags in hand from their local Tesco. Sherlock was surprised he hadn't heard the man plod up the stairs, he must have been fully submerged with in his own-yes, he had been far too consumed with his thoughts on John he noted as his penis became even harder between his stomach and closely drawn legs. He shifted uncomfortably preying that John wouldn't notice.

"Oh, went out shopping then did you? Good, that should keep you quite for a while."

Sherlock quipped hoping to mask his growing arousal. John just let out a half hearted sigh. Strange…it seemed far too light hearted. Normally he took Sherlock's attitude in stride but never with so little resistance. Where was his witty retort?

"Anything interesting happen?"

He asked begging the question.

"Actually, yes. In fact it almost makes me glad that I'm forced to do all the shopping. Not a whole four days and I've already got a date for tomorrow night."

"What?"

Sherlock's heart stopped. A date? No, hadn't he just gotten rid of that wretch Sarah? No, this is what Sherlock wanted, wasn't it? He wanted something to pull John away from him, something to draw him away from Sherlock's teeth and claws. And yet…

"Yes, we're meeting at the pub just down the way to watch the game tomorrow. Gotta say, He's a bit off, but he's quiet a looker and I'm on the rebound aren't I? I figure I'm allowed to have a bit of fun."

Bit of fun? Was he serious? Did he want Sherlock to rip his own heart out? Imagining John with some man-man? Yes he had said "he" hadn't he. This was unacceptable. He had assumed John was bisexual based off their first (what Sherlock some times fantasized was their first date) dinner at Angelo's. This was getting worse by the second. Sherlock could hardly stomach the thought of John lying with a woman, but another man? No, the thought of that man taking, owning a piece of John, his John. No.

"Fun? You'll probably contract something, you're a doctor, you should know better."

John chuckled at Sherlock's dulled tone, masking the true burning rage hiding behind his cool grey eyes. John placed the milk in the fridge with a light thunk and turned towards the taller man.

"I thought you'd be glad I'd be going out. You've seemed to be getting more annoyed with me as of late. Figured you wanted some more of your precious alone time."

What John idiotically failed to notice was that Sherlock was not annoyed with John but with how intoxicating he was and how badly he longed to touch his tanned skin and thrust-his penis twitched hopelessly within the confines of his pants.

"Never annoyed John, not with you. Just…trying to work out a case."

"A case? I didn't know you had a case going, is there anything I could do to help?"

Yes, god yes, you could stop being so blind and come over here and put one of those hands around my-Sherlock shook his head, both indicating he needed no help and to remove the image of John stroking him from his brain.

"Alright, well, let me know if you do. Not like I've got much going on right now. His name is Sebastian, in case you were wondering. An ex-army chap like myself."

Sherlock had not wanted to know that. He did not want to think about how judging by the man's military history, and John's dutifully submissive nature he could see this man thrusting into John, claiming what isn't his. He could almost hear John's breathless moan, calling out his name _"Sebastian"._ Well, at least his erection was taken care of, now he was just left with a hardening in his stomach that made him feel nauseous.

"How interesting."

He dead panned nearly leaping from the sofa.

"I'll be heading out, need a bit of that air you're always going on about."

"Alright, don't be out too late though, there's a kidnapping spree going about recently. Their grabbing blokes right off the street. Just…be careful ya know."

"Of course John. Always."

He gave an intense stare into John's deep blue eyes before dashing out. He nearly sprinted down the road before he came to an empty ally way. Dashing in he almost immediately fell to his knees, clutching onto the wall to keep him from crumpling completely onto the ground. His body racked with gasping sobs. This wouldn't do, no, he couldn't with stand these emotions much longer. Something had to be done, John had to be his. It was clear now there was no other option. But the closer John became the more pressing it would be to confess his deeply hidden secret. Would John stay then? Could Sherlock survive after seeing the fear and disgust in the eyes of someone he loved so much? He didn't think so, but he had no choice, this couldn't continue. He would have to sabotage this date; no way was John having "a bit of fun" with anyone but Sherlock Holmes. No, never again.

**Ok, hope you liked! I wonder who this Sebastian character is, hmmm? Good heavens the mystery! Glad to see people have been reading, makes me so glad, totally feeding into my ego people. Any way, reviews would be awesome, good or bad, I don't mind. Just like the feed back, this is my first fanfiction so I'm still getting a feel for things. Thanks for reading! And feel free to leave suggestions, I'm pretty flexible as far as plot or random fluff is concerned. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Chp 4**

**Good god, 4 chapters? What is wrong with me, obviously I am avoiding doing anything productive today. Right, you know the drill, I don't own these sexy mother fuckers and yatta yatta yatta. Ok, now hold onto your testicles ladies and gentlemen, things are about to get crazy. **

Sherlock's head whipped up as the sound of water hitting the shower tiles drummed up. Slowly exiting his bedroom he made his way towards the bathroom, gracefully moving with the precision of a hunter, barely making any audible sounds. He stood hesitantly out side the bathroom door, one hand shakily extended. Tonight was that dreaded date, John was currently in the process of "making himself presentable" which was utterly ludicrous, any body would be lucky to have John in any fashion he presented himself, of this Sherlock was sure. But he had insisted that he needed time to do so, so watching crap telly with Sherlock had been out of the question.

Sherlock's ears perked up as he heard John shuck his clothing onto the floor. The rings of the shower curtain gave tiny shriek as they were pulled along the metal rail and Sherlock felt himself hardening at the thought of John's naked form submerging himself into the heated droplets. His right hand brought it's self to rest on the door handle and Sherlock froze. He had promised himself one peek. Just one passing glance, just in case things didn't go as smoothly tonight as he was hoping. The plan was to ruin John's date and subsequently reveal his true feelings towards John. Sabotaging the date seemed simple enough, he'd done that plenty of times, it was the expressing his feelings bit he was stuck on. Sherlock had put much practice into masking emotion, not displaying it. What if it came out all wrong? Worse, what if it came out just right and John rejected him? Even if everything went perfectly tonight, there was no telling what would happen when John finally was revealed Sherlock's secret. His mind was reeling and he just needed to know that no matter what he would have something to hold on to, a fleeting moment in which they two were friends and Sherlock was graced with the chance to fully soak in John's beautiful form. It was the only thought that gave him any sense of security over his up coming course of actions.

Stirring up what little courage he had left, he gently turned the door knob. The door hinges gave a hushed squeak and Sherlock took several steps back, fearing John might have heard and would come running out angrily any second. After what felt like an eternity, Sherlock approached the door again. Taking a deep breath he peered in through the crack and was able to see John's well sculpted back, no doubt a result of his continued use of army exercises. His eyes trailed down John's spine to his perked arse, and Jesus did that send shivers through Sherlock. His cock once again hardened and strained against the fabric of his trousers. That was it, Sherlock backed away from the door drawing in a quivering breath. He quickly paced back to the living room fisting is hands and trying to steady his rapid heart beat. He knew his pupils had to be blown, and more than likely his iris's had turned golden. It was too close to the full moon, he should have known better, the wolf in him was clawing to get out, it screamed to be freed, to be free to ravage the unsuspecting army doctor up stairs.

Sherlock struck the wall out of the pure frustration of his situation. The wall gave a loud groan and crack as Sherlock's fist crashed through the layer of plaster and wood. He removed his hand and shook it twice, even angrier at his lack of control.

"What the bloody hell are you up to?"

John shouted as he came running on to the scene. Sherlock spun around hoping his flat mate would accept that an average man could have just as easily caused the same amount of damage, which he was 80% sure was entirely possible with the proper diet and exercise accompanied with the exact amount of fury Sherlock felt. Instead of another smoothly composed wry remark however, he made a verbal key board smash as he laid eyes on John who was standing with nothing more that a towel carelessly strewn around his waist. His bare chest had water droplets running down and cooling the man's flesh, so much so that his nipples had begun to harden with the cooling temperature.

"Well?"

He huffed gesturing towards the wall in a frantic manner.

"I…experiment."

Sherlock flushed and found himself at a loss for words, that image was far too erotic for someone so close to a full moon.

"Sherlock, are you ok?"

John obviously was caught off by Sherlock's lack of verbal prowess at the moment. He came closer and Sherlock edged back.

"I-you should get ready for your date. I've got a case anyway."

He all but ran to the coat closet.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

John was moving ever closer to Sherlock and as he slipped into his coat he could almost feel the man's breath at his neck. He gasped and went to rush out the door.

"Sherlock!"

John grabbed at Sherlock's shoulder and spun him around, face to face. John's eyes widened and then narrowed.

"Sherlock, what's wrong with your eyes?"

Sherlock shut his eyes quickly and used every ounce of his will power to return his eyes back to normal. When he opened them, he was sure that they were as a look of confusion crossed John's features.

"Nothing John, I'll see you later tonight."

"Hopefully not."

He turned and made his way back to the shower and Sherlock's heart sank. God, if that didn't make him cringe. With any luck John would welcome the change in plans. For now Sherlock was more concerned about getting away from his increasingly desirable target.

Unfortunately leaving so suddenly had put a kink in the works. Sherlock rarely went out for anything other than a case. So the location of the pub was actually a mystery to him. The original plan was to just follow John there but that was shot to hell at this point. He knew from what John had said it was somewhere on Baker street, more likely on the end heading further down town. He hastened his pace to try and make up for his error in judgment. Two potential bars from what he could now see. He was approaching on the one fast, for once happy the full moon was rising as he felt his senses heightening, he could smell that john was near by, it wouldn't take to long to locate him. Rooting around young couples and a few horny single males Sherlock made his way through the crowd of the first bar. John's scent didn't seem stronger, although the growing awareness of how many twenty year old males wore deodorant was. He pushed his way back through the crowd until he plopped back out onto the street. He took in a deep breath to clear his senses before heading towards the bar just a few blocks down, however he was greeted with something else.

John's scent always stuck out to him, he was linked to it and was pretty sure he could track the man down from nearly any location in London, however this was different. He could smell him far too well; John was perspiring, a lot. Sherlock took a few steps forward before breathing in again. Yes, John was giving off his scent in waves. Sherlock sniffed hesitantly, John was outside? With someone…another man. No. Sherlock staggered backwards. This wasn't right. He hadn't been gone that long, John hadn't seemed _that_ eager, did he? Sherlock felt his world crashing around him, this wasn't possible, it just _wasn't_. There had to be another explanation, there_ had_ to be. Sherlock ran a trembling hand through his curls and felt the sting of tears brimming his eyes.

"No"

He gasped. This was too much, this was not possible. Images crashed through his mind, John, pinned against an ally wall with that husky ex-army man leaning into him. Claiming John, his name on John's lips, his _lips_ on John's lips, no, Sherlock would not allow this. He strummed up all his anger, all his courage, he wouldn't allow this continue, John had to know how he felt. If he still thought "getting off" with this _man_ was more important than a relationship with Sherlock, then so be it, but he would not stand idly by and just allow this man to take what he so longed to make his own.

As he drew closer a new scent was added to the mix, one that was all too fucking clear. How hadn't he noticed before, it was fear. Sherlock began sprinting before he was even consciously aware, his blood was mere ice water pumping through his veins at an alarming rate. His heart was pounding so hard and his ear tuned into the sounds of a struggling John Watson, God only knows what was happening. Sherlock's heart stopped at the thought that the man-no! He picked up speed and began to cross the street only to find that he was far too focused on the helpless noises of John to see the oncoming traffic. He felt an intense smack into the right side of his body and heard the cracking of what his screaming nerves told him was his arm. Hi skid to the road landing on his left side, peering up to see a very frazzled taxi driver. He didn't have time for this! He got back up just in time to see John's squirming body be tossed into the side of a black van.

"NO!"

**DUN DUN DUN! Oh, what will happen next? Some Jim, Jim from IT? Warning, things may get a bit graphic next chapter, but something tells me you like it that way, you dirty, dirty hedgehogs ;) **

**P.s. I have a tumblr and if you follow the link bellow perhaps you may enjoy a drawing I have done for my particular story line. Just a suggestion (go do it I'm an attention whore). Whatever, your choice. **

**.com/post/18039671689/drawing-of-new-fanfic-im-writing-pretty**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chp 5**

**What the fuck, plot? Thanks to my wonderful sister for helping me work out some of the finer points to this chapter. Neither she, nor I, owns these characters though.**

Sprinting, running, racing, dashing; none of these adequately describe just how fast or how desperately Sherlock was attempting to reach that bloody van and save John. How could he have been so stupid, he _knows_ John, he knew John wouldn't be the type to have relations with another man in an ally, especially not one he'd just met! Now he was tearing through the streets at inhuman speeds preying he can correct this horrible lapse of judgment. These damn emotions were going to be what cost John his life! The van was picking up speed as it neared the outskirts of the city. The way they were ripping down the road Sherlock could deduce that they expected to be followed, but maybe not as efficiently as they weren't taking any evasive actions, just driving much faster than necessary.

The van finally began slowing as it entered a lot surrounded by towering walls, acting as a fence. It looked like a warn down prison of sorts. The walls were tall and ominous and the entrance was opened by somebody within electronically. The van rolled in and the entrance slammed shut. Sherlock slowed to a halt, he wasn't stupid enough to simply walk up to the gate, he had to use stealth, he wanted to get to John as soon as possible but he sparked alarm they could harm him. He looked up to see that the moon had finally come into full view and it sent a shiver through his spine. The thought occurred that being in his wolf form would be effective in retrieving John; it would allow access to his full strength. However…he wasn't sure whether John was conscious or not, and was he ready to reveal his true nature? It certainly wasn't part of the plan, although that plan was shot to hell the moment he left the flat earlier in the evening. But the full moon had its draw backs too, his emotions were on high, even if he went in his human form he might not be able to refrain from changing. What if he saw John covered in his own blood-Sherlock felt some of his bones shifting and stifled a grunt. Yes, yes it was completely possible that he might change involuntarily. He couldn't afford the loss of time either, shifting took time, not a lot, but enough for someone to get a few bullets in him. True it was near impossible to kill a werewolf, but it was a possibility, and bullets could certainly slow him down.

He could hear the van doors opening and shutting and the perpetrators mumbling in grunts. There was some shuffling and then another open and close of van doors.

"Be careful, he's a fighter, don't let that knife wound fool you."

A deep grumble came from beyond the wall. Knife wound? Yes, there it was the smell of blood, John's blood. Sherlock could feel his body beginning to change, his knees hit the ground and he tore at the grass looking for something to hold onto.

"You bastards, he'll find me ya know. Now or later he will, and there is no way you'll get away with this."

John spat. Sherlock's heart did a back flip; yes John was still conscious and fighting. He felt himself settle just a little bit.

"We're planning on him finding us mate, as for that last bit though, we could've done this a broad day light and gotten away with it. I don't think you realize what deep shit you're in doctor."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"He'll explain."

There was a shuffling of feet and one pair being dragged. Stubborn no matter the circumstances, Sherlock would have laughed if this weren't so serious. His body was quivering and there was no way he could continue to live under the illusion that he was going to be able to remain in human form. There wasn't time to worry about it though, what happened, happened, he wouldn't be able to live he le John die over his concerns over acceptance. Besides, maybe he could be in and out, let John just think that some random werewolf had saved him, yeah, that might work. God he hoped that would fucking work.

No more time for thinking, he heard John give a wail from deep within the building behind the tall walls and the wolf took hold. Muscles stretched, bones shifted, limbs elongated. He had to grind his teeth in order to hold in a howl. His eyes were no doubt glowing gold now and his molars and incisors were most assuredly all canines now. His fingernails grew and hardened into sharp claws, his nose grew out into a snout, and he felt the tail sprout out from the base of his spine. Fur tore through flesh and in the end he loved like one massive wolf with jet black fur and golden eyes. He gave himself a quick shake and less than a moment to adjust to his new stature.

Quickly he assessed the wall and took several large steps back. He processed the appropriate length away in order to get a good gallop going to jump the heinous wall, and like a gun shot at a race John's scream sent Sherlock into action. He went full speed at the wall until just the precise moment and leapt with a force that sent him whirring through the air. He came over the wall and landed with a loud thud. He was right next to the black van that had taken John and was almost the same length and height of it. The building was rather small but from how John's shouts reverberated and the general lay out of the facility Sherlock could tell that the majority of the structure was underground. He glanced around to see a few miscellaneous cars and vans and a few security cameras. He was more than a little perturbed by the lack of guards, but then that man had said they'd been expecting him. He padded up to the door and scrunched his nose at the key pad. He assumed that crashing the door down would set off some sort of alarm along with being a fairly noisy entry in itself, but seeing as there were cameras any chance of a surprise attack was out. He barreled at the door full force and felt the cool metal crinkle loudly underneath his weight. The door was made of something tough, something not common, so it remained attached to the wall but there was enough room for Sherlock to squeeze through the entrance.

"SHERLOCK!"

Sherlock's heart dropped at the desperation that clung to every syllable of John's plea. The cry came from bellow, much clearer now that he was inside the building and Sherlock needed to find a way to John. Taking in a deep breath he honed in on where John was rushing down a narrow hallway he found a note addressed to him hanging on the doorway leading to the stairs. It read:

"Bit of a tight squeeze pup your size, you might want to take the lift"

There was an arrow underneath pointing towards a metal lift with a small gate around it. Sherlock stared at the note for just a moment, whoever it was knew he was a wolf. In fact whoever this was knew an awful lot about him. They knew secret, they even knew where they shopped, because obviously John's "date" was one of their men. He could only think of two people who would have the ability to access such knowledge and have the means to carry out such a large scale operation. One was his brother who was currently in china on "holiday" and the other was James Moriarty. He left the note and made his way to the lift, which lowered him with out him having to do anything. This was definitely feeling like a trap, but one he'd gladly walk into to save John. He went down four flights underground before coming to a stop. He exited the lift and made his way towards the barely audible whimpers John was making. His heart was seizing up thinking about the pain inflicted on his beloved flat mate.

As suspected Moriarty stood holding a rather menacing and bloodied carving knife and was standing over a trembling John. Moriarty looked as though he was on his way to a business meeting rather than in a dimly lit basement to torture a man. His hair was slicked back and his westwood suit didn't have a single wrinkle or spot of blood. John on the other had was bare-chested and covered in cuts and abrasions, including a particularly troubling one on the side of his abdomen, judging by the early stages of clotting in was the knife wound the guards had been referring to. His pants were soaked with his own blood and it seemed blood loss was going to be a serious issue soon. Sherlock let out a low growl at the sight, his stomach churning with the image of John drenched in his own blood. John raised his head weakly and his eyes widened as he spotted Sherlock just a few meters away. Moriarty simply gave a sadistic smile.

"Nice of you to join us, Johnny boy and I were just having a bit of fun. Isn't that right?"

Moriarty patted John's cheek though he didn't seem to take notice; his eyes were stuck on Sherlock. Sherlock let out another deep snarl at the contact which seemed to make only John shiver, Moriarty just smiled on knowingly. Sherlock inched closer and Moriarty wagged his finger.

"Now, now, none of that. Not yet."

And with that several red dots appeared along John's frame. Sherlock gave a low growl at what he should have assumed; of course there'd be snipers.

"I figured you'd have too little self control to show up in your human form. Oh well, had to come out sooner or later, right? John's not _that_ stupid, plus it saves us a bit of time."

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably as he saw the growing awareness on John's face, yes; he knew what he was now. Moriarty took a step closer towards him and his smile widened sickeningly.

"We're going to play a game Sherlock, you, Johnny and I. I think you might like it, I know I do."

Sherlock's eyes looked from Moriarty to John nervously.

"Don't worry Sherly! John will be fine, well, if you win of course."

Sherlock emitted another intense snarl and inched closer to Moriarty. There was no way he'd let that mad man touch John again, there was no way _anyone_ would ever touch his John again.

"Hey now, don't get snippy with me. It's all up to you after all. I've already done my part, I've laid out the pieces and the game board, all you have to do is roll the dice."

Sherlock really wished Moriarty would just get to the fucking point and stop with the stupid metaphors. He wanted this done, now. He wanted to take John home and stop all that bleeding, to hold him tight and never let him go.

"I've been a bit naughty lately, getting ready for our little encounter. You might have read it in the papers, those silly abductions going on."

Sherlock's ears perked up because while he didn't bother with newspapers and their trivia he did recall John mentioning something.

"Yes well, all practice for the main event really. They were all about the same build as your doctor, near the same health. Perfectly good lab rats."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed because he _really_ did not like where this was headed.

"You see, in my pack-yes Sherlock I'm one too."

He said with a gleeful smile and flashed his eyes a deep crimson red as proof. Well that explained how he knew Sherlock was a werewolf. He had never done much to cover up the smell as humans could hardly notice. Obvious enough that Moriarty was the type to hide such things even from his own kind, which was easy enough with enough odor illuminators.

"Well, in my pack, every once in a while some gall or fellow would want to claim a human as their own. They'd want to scent them. I'm sure you're aware the process is a bit risky, especially on a full moon. With another one of us, sure, it's easy peasy. But _humans_, they're weak, fragile, and breakable."

His smile turned to a deadly sneer as he eyed John.

"And my pack being a bit…rougher, than most, well let's just say there were accidents. But it got me to thinking. Even a wolf with the best self control could slip up, under the right conditions."

He stepped towards John and patted his head which made John wince at the contact.

"I gave a few trial runs, to see how much a wolf could take before they just, snapped. The results were most satisfying."

Sherlock started to freeze up, Moriarty's intent was all too clear, and he wasn't sure he could live up to the challenge. Just then Moriarty came within inches of him.

"Scent him, and see if the combinations of your all too predictable emotional state, the full moon, and the scent of John and his blood don't push you over the edge. Prove your skill Sherlock. Can you do it; can you scent him with out ripping him to shreds? Because I've got some interesting corpses that say it'll be quite the task."

Sherlock stepped back anxiously, this was too much. He didn't want to think about how easy it would be to tear through John's delicate flesh, ripping him apart. Moriarty then let out a low growl.

"You do it, or I will."

His crimson eyes flashed with intensity and blood lust. Sherlock looked to John, who simply looked into his golden eyes and gave a weak trembling smile. Sherlock took a weary step forward; there was only one way out of here.

**Another cliff hanger! Gah! I'm evil I know! Hope you're enjoying the madness, I'll try to continue regular updates but I've got a bit of homework to attend to, but have no fear, I don't plan on there being too long of a gap if one at all. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Chp 6**

**Shit, man. Whoa. Should be working on my paper but seriously was too excited about the next chapter! I mean it's JAWN! Well, hope you enjoy! (Don't own these guys!)**

The air was thick and Sherlock was having increasing difficulty swallowing it down. Moriarty had him, there was no way Sherlock could escape this. He glanced around the basement to try and get a handle on things, there had to be some way he could get out of here. Maybe he could play along at first, and then make a dash when Moriarty became distracted. Not entirely likely, Moriarty seemed the type to want to watch, soak up his victory. He wanted to cause pain, it entertained him. He'd want to be there to see Sherlock fail to witness him shred John to bits. Sherlock's stomach churned, no, he couldn't do that. No he wouldn't survive doing such a thing. This wasn't right, scenting could be dangerous under normal circumstances. Though his top concern, harming John wasn't the only issue on hand.

Scenting was a serious business, most certainly not something to be forced or done with out consent on both ends. If Sherlock succeeded (god he hoped he did. The alternative…well it wasn't a possibility) John would be marked. He'd become Sherlock's, and while the thought had sent shivers down Sherlock's spine previously, now it was all wrong. He wanted John all to himself, to let the world know that he was his and for no one else to touch, but it had to be John's choice. To force John into this, to know that he didn't want it, he'd resent Sherlock. He couldn't blame him either.

"Waaaiiiitiiing!"

Jim sing-songed to Sherlock casting a bored expression. Sherlock took a shuddering step forward and looked up into John's eyes. They were fixed on Sherlock with a quiet intensity; he appeared to be swaying a bit, whether from blood loss or fear (possibly both) was unclear. Sherlock continued to inch closer swallowing hard, considering that maybe there was some alternative. He peered back at Moriarty and received a devilish smirk in return. He turned back to John and tried to convey just how sorry he was, and tried to reassure him that it would all be ok, but he wasn't sure if John was really processing properly. He was sweating and there was the unmistakable mixture of his smell and fear. This was breaking his heart, seeing John so distraught, if he could shift back to a human right now he would, just so he could explain and comfort. There was no guarantee Moriarty would even allow that though.

Sherlock was inches away from John's tiny form which seemed to be vibrating which panic. He dipped his head low so that he could look directly into John's eyes which ceased the vibration. John looked as though he had been frozen in a place, a statue rather than a man. Sherlock knelt in even closer and touched his nose to John's, he really hoped John would understand, would see that Sherlock had no intention of hurting him. They stared for a moment and Sherlock fought to continue holding his breath, he didn't want to scare John, and to smell him so close would more than likely cause him to start the scenting process without warning.

"Sh-sherlock?"

John questioned in a trembling whisper. Sherlock gave a slight nod to indicate that it was in fact him. He hoped that this reassurance would help put John more at ease, it would certainly help not to have John over stimulating him.

"Jesus! Get on with it! I haven't got all day you know, I'm a very busy man. If you keep dragging on like a couple of virgin brides I'll just shoot Johnny-boy in the head and get it over with."

Moriarty complained with a dangerous edge to his voice. Sherlock didn't move his gaze from John though, it was imperative that he not anger himself, he had to concentrate on keeping John alive. That was all that mattered now. He would worry about John being marked later. He leaned in even closer hoping to start the process as calmly as physically possible.

"I trust you."

John breathed, so quietly Sherlock almost didn't hear it. He looked back into those deep blue eyes and gave slight nod to let him know he was heard and to indicate that he would start. At almost a glacial pace he began to lick John's right shoulder. John shivered at the contact and gave out a tin squeak of surprise. Sherlock stopped for just a moment to send him another steady glance; it was John's turn to nod as he returned the look. Sherlock went back to lapping at his shoulder, and trying ferociously hard to ignore just how great John tasted or how enthralling his smell was. There was a coppery twang of John's blood and the salty sting of his sweat and it was making Sherlock nearly convulse with the over whelming onslaught of sensations. He gave John another deep gaze, hoping there wasn't too much desire or viciousness in his eyes.

John's breath hitched and he rocked back on his heels, _was it done?_ He couldn't tell, he had no idea what this whole…smelling? No, scenting, he didn't have a clue what it entailed. It sounded dangerous, but so far it was just wet. In more ways than one though, he could feel his body temperature rising, Sherlock (or for now what he could only assume was Sherlock, it seemed to be, but it was bloody hard to believe he'd not noticed this before) was licking him an awful lot, there seemed to be a lot of drool too. He figured he'd be a bit more scared if he weren't fairly certain this thing was Sherlock (it was Sherlock, it had to be. Something just screamed it), and that he had lost so much blood his head was spinning. Sherlock seemed to be having muscle spasms of sorts with all the twitching he was doing; he was bumping into John quite a bit.

"Sherlock?"

John murmured, not wanting to draw attention to Moriarty who was beginning to smile in a very nerve wracking way. He just wanted to know what was going on; he hated being left in the dark about these things. Sherlock, Moriarty, Irene; they all were always twelve steps ahead, and John just hated it. He wanted to know what was so dangerous about this, what the big deal was. Moriarty mentioned corpses…but that had been at his hand (paw?) not Sherlock's. Sherlock would never do anything to hurt him (purposefully, there had been a few unfortunate experiments) so John's anxiety mainly stemmed from his blood loss and what Moriarty had planned, what he would do when this didn't work.

Now Sherlock's body was really convulsing, worryingly so. Was something going wrong? He looked over to see Moriarty biting his knuckle to suppress what looked like a manic giggle. John was a bit lost at what to do, this was beginning to feel…bad. He reached up a hesitant had thinking perhaps to calm Sherlock, only to be cut short and thrown to the ground by-Sherlock? He looked up in surprise, this didn't seem like him, he wouldn't be so violent towards him (certainly when there was no chance of this being another odd experiment). He felt the two very large paws applying an intense amount of pressure, affectively pinning him.

"Sherlock? What are you doing?"

He was trembling now, because the look he got back in response was one of intent. Whatever was about to happen, was going to happen whether John liked it or not, of that much he was sure. He wanted Sherlock to snap out of it, his licks were turning to nips which were a bit too rough for John's taste. He had already lost enough blood when Moriarty decided to start using his chest as a drawing board. _Flesh is my favorite medium_, he had said. Cut into his scar, made him call out Sherlock's name. _I'll kill him, you know I will_. John hadn't questioned it for a second; if he had he would've tried to fight his way out of there. If he hadn't trusted that Moriarty could and _would_ kill at a moments notice, you better believe he would have been throwing punches.

His mind was swimming; he couldn't stay focused on what was happening, or anything for that matter. Sherlock was licking and biting and shaking, it was all just pain.

"Sherlock, please-"

Just then, snap. A sickening blood chilling snap, his right humerus had cracked under the weight of Sherlock's hold.

"Jesus! Sherlock!"

Moriarty started to laugh, cackle really, and John started to have second guesses about this whole scenting. He was in so much pain, he had lost too much blood, and it was piling up. All he could do is lay there helplessly, and hope it was done soon. His vision began to blur as he started to hear a distant howl.

**Oh, I like John's perspective, nice. What will happen next? I guess you'll just have to read on to find out won't you? By the way! LOVE all the really lovely comments I've been getting. Really do appreciate it, makes my day honestly. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Chp 7**

**Boop be boop, not my characters, that is all. **

"I don't know who you're friends with, but it must be someone pretty important. Most visitors aren't allowed to stay the night."

The nurse with far too much makeup chirped as she finished administering a dose of antibiotics to John's I.V. She skirted out of the room leaving a very distraught Sherlock Holmes behind. He sat at the edge of his chair, leaning in close to John's sleeping form, as if looking away would make his heart cease beating. He looked so small, wrapped in those sheets, so fragile. His breathing was slow and even, no thanks to Sherlock. How had he been so careless? The smell of John, the _taste_, and the feeling of trust. Trust Sherlock now knew he didn't deserve. John had looked at him and allowed him to do as he saw fit, as usual just blindly following Sherlock's lead. John had just lain there, unable to do anything to stop the attack.

Sherlock managed to finish the scenting process, but not without leaving John so close to death that Moriarty was literally fighting back bursts of laughter, he'd just let them leave, why shouldn't he have, he had _won_. John was just lying on the floor, in a pool of his own blood, so still. God, Sherlock fisted his hair, he was just _so fucking still_. For all intents and purposes John had died last night; it took a team of paramedics and few serious surgeries to get John where he is now. He had had to carry him back to Mycroft to get him medical attention while he waited to be able to shift back. He loathed the idea of getting him involved, but he had no other means of ensuring John would be revived. He certainly couldn't pick up a phone or even attempt it himself.

The worst part was that Sherlock had enjoyed it when it was happening. He couldn't even help it, once he started releasing all his pheromones, having them intermingle with John's, it was exhilarating. He was so caught up in everything he was feeling he didn't even hear John's bones snapping lick twigs, or his skin being torn, and he didn't even notice his lung being punctured. No Sherlock didn't notice a damn thing until he heard, saw, and_ felt_ John's heart stop. Sherlock started to tremble, choking back a powerful sob. He had put John there, there was no excuse. He had spent _years_ divorcing himself from emotion, then the _one_ person who truly matters life depends on him detaching himself, and he just fucking gives in.

"John, I'm so sorry. Please, please just be _ok._"

Sherlock didn't bother holding back the tears; he just let them fall freely with a soft pitter patter on the hospital linoleum.

"Hey, cut that out, some of us are trying to get a bit of shut eye."

Sherlock's head whipped up, yes, it had been John's hoarse voice uttering those words. He was looking at Sherlock with half lidded eyes and a faint smile. _A smile?_ Only John, only his John would smile at such a time.

"John, you're awake."

He brushed the tears off his face, hoping he hadn't noticed, but somehow knowing he probably had.

"I'll leave if that's what you'd like. I understand completely."

Yes he'd leave. Leave forever to let John be happy, after what he's done to the man, he would understand. He wouldn't like it, but he would understand, he would comply.

"No, it's ok. The morphine is beginning to wear off, so I'm kind of awake."

"Should I call a nurse, are you in pain?"

"Sherlock, calm down, its nothing I can't manage."

"John, you tell me right now if you're in pain."

Sherlock hadn't meant to use such a demanding tone, but he needed to know. John wasn't to play hero now, he was a patient.

"Yes, I'm in a lot of pain."

John sputtered out. A look of confusion spread across his features. He looked up at Sherlock.

"I-I hadn't meant to say that. Why did I say that?"

Sherlock's eyes widened and looked from John's eyes to the floor. He couldn't bear to look him in the eye, he was so ashamed. Not even awake a whole minute and Sherlock had already abused his hold over John, stupid!

"Sherlock. Why did I say that?"

John was more insistent this time; Sherlock could feel his cold stare on the top of his head.

"I-John, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"Be a bit more specific, could you?"

"I'm sorry…for everything John."

Sherlock looked back up into John's eyes and could feel tears trying to make their way down his cheeks.

"Don't be-oh Sherlock. Just-could you just tell me exactly what is going on here? That psycho Moriarty didn't really explain much and really I'm just at a loss."

Sherlock did his best to keep a level voice as he explained his transformation into a werewolf, told him about his moods and senses. He explained that he hadn't told anyone for fear of rejection, everyone already thought he was a freak. Then he got to the scenting.

"Well it's sort of…"

He looked at John nervously; he didn't know how John was going to take this. If he was angry, if he took it badly, if he wanted Sherlock to leave, he would have to comply. It would kill him inside, but he would have to leave, and the thought of leaving was terrifying.

"Out with it Sherlock, come on mate, I can handle whatever it is."

"It, how do I…when you scent someone you're marking them…you…claim them as yours. It's so that other werewolf's know that the individual belongs to someone else. Two of us together it gets pretty rough but we can handle it, we heal quickly, and then both parties are marked. With a human…well a human can't scent, but that can be marked and scented themselves. Mainly the whole point is just to declare ones ownership of another person."

There was a brief pause and Sherlock held his breath with fearsome anticipation.

"So you…own me…?"

"No! John I-you can do as you-I would never make you-I-I….I have some control over you, but I would never use it against you John. This wasn't your choice, I would have never done this without your consent, especially not with you in that condition, most certainly not on a full moon, and there would have been someone there-'

"You've put a lot of thought into this I see."

John was giving an impish grin which brought a surge of blood to his cheeks, blushing violently he turned away.

"Look, Sherlock. I can't say I'm not a bit peeved about the circumstances, I mean you did bloody near "scent" me to death I guess you could say."

Sherlock flinched at the memory of John's limp body in his grasp.

"I'm not trying to make you feel bad, I'm still processing all of this, but I get that lost control for a bit. I'm just saying that obviously it's not all hugs and sunshine, but it's not the end of the world either. I'm still here; we managed to get away from Moriarty, and now I don't have to worry about some other werewolf trying to get their smell all over me, right?"

"John, trust me, no other werewolf would have been able to scent you."

He gave John a steady gaze for a few beats and then shook his head. John continued to stare back at Sherlock though, cocking his head a bit to the side.

"So, what's this scenting stuff do anyway? Am I just gonna smell like a dog?"

He asked giving a cautionary sniff to his arm. Sherlock couldn't help but give a soft chuckle.

"Well…please, don't take this the wrong way…I can give you…orders, if I'm adamant enough. I have the ability to sense where you are, at all times. I-uh-can call you to me, no matter where you are. We'll be a bit…closer too, be able to read each other better, have a better feel for what the other is thinking…"

God he hoped John wouldn't find this all too weird. This was becoming increasingly more awkward for Sherlock and he was finding it difficult to get rid of his blush.

"Well, that's not so bad. It was sort of like that before anyway. Maybe not as "sci-fi" or anything, but nothing too extreme."

Sherlock was relieved that John was taking this all so well; this was going better than expected. With any luck John would be out of the hospital soon and they could put the whole thing behind them.

"What's the point to it though? I mean do you guys just scent all your friends?"

"No, no we-"

Sherlock sucked in a deep breath. _Shit_. No John we only mark our mates. Of course John would have to ask that question. What could he do, lie? No, lying to John was bad, that never ended well, eventually Sherlock would have to tell the truth and admit he'd lied, then John would be pissed. He didn't want John pissed. At the same time though he didn't want to let on how pleased he was that John would be forever marked as his. This was all happening too soon.

"We scent with…we mark our mates."

**Ohhhh, how will John react to that tid bit of information? Tune in next time :p **


	8. Chapter 8

**Chp 8**

**Hope you enjoy, I don't own these characters, but I sure am having fun writing them. ;) **

Sherlock gave John a solid stare filled with burning intensity. How John took this news was going to be very important. If he didn't seem too upset then maybe he still had a chance. Maybe out of this horrible experience Sherlock and John could walk away with something extraordinary. John was thinking, clearly, his expressions were always painted plainly on is face. Just one of the many things Sherlock loved about the man.

"Mate as in…"

"Yes, John, mate as in a life long sexual partner."

John nodded slowly, Sherlock tried to deduce whether that was good or bad. John didn't seem angry, his face scrunched up more when he got angry. He wasn't disgusted, or his upper lip would have twitched. While both these facts gave Sherlock hope, they also didn't give any clear indicator that John was happy about the arrangement.

"So…as far as the dog community goes…we're mating?"

"Werewolf, and…yes."

John leaned back further and sucked in a small gasp of breath. He was considering, that's good. He wasn't out right rejecting the idea; maybe this would go better than expected.

"Well Jesus, you'd think werewolves could just ask a bloke out on a date rather than ripping each other apart."

John let out a little huff in amusement. His breath wafting over his face, filling his senses. Sherlock's eyes went golden instantaneously, now that he was marked, his scent called out to him more powerfully than ever. He shook his head and leaned away though, the last thing John needed right now was to be pounced, _again_. It was obvious however that this was a problem that was only going to continue getting worse unless something was done. As nervous and uneasy as it made Sherlock, it wasn't fair to just let the tension build. John had to know what he was doing to him, he had to be warned what he was getting himself into (what he'd been into really since the day he walked into Bart's).

"John, look. There's, well, there's something else I need to tell you."

He muttered shifting his eyes uncomfortably from the floor to John and back again. He ran his hand through his curls and let out a puff of air.

"These senses, they make things…more intense for us. They make it harder for us to control some of our more…primal impulses. When we find someone attractive, well, it's hard for us not to do anything about it. We're also very territorial creatures…and very angry. What I'm trying to say is, well, the scenting process heightens all of that. Well, what I'm really trying to say is…John, your smell, your…well everything about you really, it speaks to me. _In volumes_. And I can't stand the thought of your with another, be it man or woman. I know I might not be the perfect choice, but I promise you that I will never stop loving you."

Sherlock sucked in another shaky breath and looked stared intensely at the floor. Silently will John to reply, the silence was unbearable. When the seconds turned to minutes Sherlock became more than a little concerned. Was John so shocked? Maybe he was angry? He wouldn't be able to deduce anything until he found the courage to look up into those deep blue eyes of his. He slowly lifted his gaze to John and hoped to god that he wasn't too angry or disgusted.

What he found instead however John's limp form was slumped to his right side. Sherlock snapped to attention, leaping from his chair and placing a firm hand to John's right shoulder.

"John? John, are you ok? John, did you fall asleep? John?"

There was a growing sense of dread as John continued to remain motionless. Sherlock leaned in closer and could hear a slow but steady heart beat, and the slight sounds of breathing. Did he fall asleep? No, unlikely, John may not want to be romantically involved with Sherlock but he would never be so rude. Sherlock leaned over and laid John back against the pillows, he wasn't sure what was wrong. He elected to do what John would insist on being the "responsible" course of action and pressed the nurse call button. Within moments the same makeup covered nurse from before came scurrying in.

"What happened?"

She asked moving quickly over to the other side of the bed.

"I'm not sure, I was talking to him, I looked away for a minute and when I looked back he was slumped over."

He was trying hard to keep himself from breaking down. This was horrible; it wasn't fair for John to be anything but perfect. What could possibly be wrong now? The nurse took his pulse and didn't seem to find anything wrong there. She leaned in further and thumbed opened his left eye. She narrowed her eyes and looked from John to Sherlock.

"His pupils are dilated, nobody came in to give him anything after I left did they?"

"No, nobody has even come into the room."

Dilated pupils? What could have caused this? No one had given John anything and it was clear by the woman's left eye that she hadn't done it. She shone a light in each eye and then held a stethoscope to his chest. She seemed to be checking anything and anything possible. Sherlock appreciated the effort because anything less would have elicited a very angry response from him.

"There doesn't seem to be anything wrong. We can run some tests later but for now I'm going to give him some morphine."

"His eyes are dilated, you don't even know why, is that really the best choice? What are you thinking?"

Sherlock spewed the words like venom; there was no way he was going to let some idiot make a stupid mistake when it interfered with John's safety. She looked over at him with a wavering gaze as she prepared the morphine.

"Sir, I know this is frightening, I'd be worried if it were my boyfriend too. But you have to trust me. His heart rate is slightly elevated and his eyes are dilated, but none of his injuries would coincide with loss of consciousness after the initial trauma. From what you told me he hadn't been given anything to produce such a response."

She moved towards the I.V. with her readied syringe and Sherlock let out a low threatening growl. She stopped dead in her tracks and looked up at the imposing man.

"This may seem confusing, but I've seen it before. People can only handle so many stimuli before they just shut down. If his morphine had worn off I can imagine that he'd be in a lot of pain; that alone sometimes is too much for a person. I can tell he's tough, but it wouldn't take much to put him over the edge. Perhaps something you said triggered an emotional response…"

Sherlock stepped away from the nurse and allowed her to give John a does of morphine; he did however restrain her from fluffing his pillows. She scampered out of the room with her tail between her legs. Few could stand up to Sherlock, even fewer when John Watson was involved. _John_. Had he done this? Had he given him that extra stimulus? If so, then what? Was it pain? Anger? Fear? What had he done? More than likely he'd fucked everything up, he'd upset John so much that he'd passed out. What's worse is that part of the reason was Sherlock had let John sit there while he was obviously suffering. Why is it that a man of his intelligence could be so dim? He leaned over John and pressed a soft kiss to the older man's temple.

"I'm so sorry John, I truly am. I'm so-"

He broke off with a quiet sob, consumed by his despair. Tears fell freely from his eyes and rolled onto John's cheeks.

"Sorry."

**What was it that put John over the edge? Guess we'll all have to wait and see! But hey, not as bad of a cliff hanger this time!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chp 9**

**Ugh, wasn't really a fan of my last chapter. Decided that I needed to make up for it with a quick update. Oh, and as always, these are not my characters. **

John hadn't been expecting that. He was trying so hard to block out the building pain radiating from what seemed every nerve ending. More importantly he was trying to concentrate on what Sherlock was saying, because it seemed pretty important. He was explaining that whole scenting thing and then…about _mates_. He had said it to, that they were mates. John was sure he meant purely in terms of how the other werewolves saw them, but still the thought was…_fantastic_. It was more than he could have hoped for by a long shot. He was becoming overwhelmed by this feeling of all consuming joy. Maybe Sherlock wouldn't think of them as mates, not in the way John would, but he would have to claim him as one. So what if it wasn't a traditional relationship or one that his therapist thought was conventional or "stable" enough. John would be ok with that, it may not be all that he'd wanted, but a fragment of Sherlock was better than the whole of any other person John had ever met. He'd tried to find some way to diminish his growing closeness to the man; he'd wanted to remain distant. He knew that relationships were not his thing; he'd known that since day one. So he'd tried to find someone else, tried to fill that ever growing hole that Sherlock was digging in the center of his chest. No one, not a single person in London, could compare to Sherlock Holmes.

Then he caught John's attention again. "John, look. There's, well, there's something else I need to tell you." With that simple uttering, he also released a slight puff of air, which snaked its way to John's left cheek. The sensation sent shivers down his spine and with that a lightning bolt of sensations. Longing, warmth, excitement, lust, hope, joy, _love_. He could feel Sherlock like he'd never been able to before. Though there was a clear space between the two of them, it seemed as though Sherlock were curled around him, filling him with all of these delicious feelings. Which is why although he could no longer hear what Sherlock had started saying, and his vision was going black, he knew everything was going to be ok. Everything would be perfect from now on, because he had Sherlock.

**Short but I like it; next chapter will be more plot oriented, promise! **


	10. Chapter 10

**Chp 10**

**Hello! Just wanted to give a quick announcement! I plan on trying to up date everyday but I do have school so just keep that in mind! Also I need to say thank you for all the reviews, honestly they bring a huge stupid smile to my face. I can't say how awesome it is to know you guys are enjoying, that said, these are not my characters, but please enjoy the chapter anyway. **

There was no doubt in Sherlock's mind that they needed to get out of the hospital as soon as possible. He would call Mycroft tomorrow and speak to him about getting John released quickly. Moriarty might have thought John was going to die that night but it surely wouldn't take long for him to figure out John had survived. In fact he probably already did, and while there were no clear indicators he would come back to finish him off, Sherlock didn't want to take the chance.

Oddly enough the Moriarty problem really wasn't the scariest thing on Sherlock's mind at the moment. He far more concerned about having to tell John, _again_, how he felt. Or at least there was a good chance he would; he wasn't sure how much John had heard. More troubling was that he wasn't sure what it was that pushed John over the brink and into unconsciousness. He could be laying there, ready to wake up and sock Sherlock in the jaw for all he knew.

He picked up John's small calloused hand in his own large boney ones. He squeezed for a moment and began rubbing circles in his skin with his thumb. The motion seemed comforting to him. For now he was allowed to touch, to drink in the delicious sensation of John at his finger tips. It seemed that this may be the only time he'd be able to do this, to hold John. He knew that he was a monster, in more ways than one, and he wasn't something to be loved. John had put up with him more than most, had shown him kindness and praise, and had given him friendship. There was only so much one person could take though, and Sherlock was sure that this was the limit, he had come to the end of John's rope and he could feel himself slipping. There was just no way that John would want Sherlock, especially after what he had done. He'd had fantasies about John loving him, holding him; he'd wanted to make them real. However now that he found himself needing to tell John about those feelings, it became painfully clear how unlikely it was that those feelings would ever be reciprocated.

John's fingers twitched and he began to shift underneath the covers. Sherlock quickly removed his hand and observed his friend wriggling into consciousness. His heart picked up its pace a bit. This was going to happen, it was so soon! He wasn't sure he was up to the task, that he'd be able to survive the look of disgust on John's face, the disappointment.

"mmm, Sherlock?"

John mumbled sleepily turning slowly to his left side to face Sherlock. His eyes blinked slowly until he was looking up at Sherlock through half lidded eyes.

"John are you…ok?"

Sherlock asked tentatively, he wasn't sure just how angry John was and he didn't want to make the situation any worse than it already was.

"Oh yes, better than ok. You were holding my hand, why'd you stop?"

"Excuse me?"

Now that, was not something he had expected to hear! He tried desperately not to read into what the man had just said. He didn't want to get his hopes up, there was a good chance John was still a bit off from the morphine he'd received an hour before.

"You were holding my hand, it was nice…I blacked out when you were talking…sorry."

"Don't-don't be sorry, I'm sorry. Whatever I said that upset you so much I apologize."

Sherlock looked sheepishly at John thinking that with those words John would remember and snap out of his jolly little mood, no doubt a result of the opiate rushing through his veins.

"Sherlock Holmes, sorry? Now I know I'm dreaming."

"Dreaming…?"

John propped himself up and leaned in closer to Sherlock, their faces inches away. Sherlock could smell the man so well; he could feel his breath on his lips.

"Yes, I knew I was getting myself into a particularly nice dream when you were holding my hand, but I wasn't completely sure, but now it's very clear."

Sherlock blinked a few times. _A nice dream?_ Did John often dream of them touching? More importantly, did he like it? He reached his hand out and once again clasped John's smaller hand, completely smothering it with Sherlock's long elegant fingers.

"I regret to inform you John that this is not a dream, but I will gladly take hold of your hand again."

He began to gently rub in a circular motion with his thumb again. John let out a soft approving moan.

"No Sherlock, that's what you usually say. I've learned not to trust those words. You say that but I know it's a dream because you never touch me in real life. You always back away, you don't like touching in real life."

John frowned as he said this; obviously this little fact upset him. Sherlock's heart went into overdrive. John did like touching him! John liked him! John wasn't angry, or at least he wasn't at the moment.

"John, I do like touching you, it's just that which my affliction touching you proved to difficult a task without…well with out snogging you senseless! I-John, I've wanted to hear you say these things for so long."

Sherlock was smiling so big now and he could feel tears filling his eyes. This was too good to be true. Maybe Sherlock was the one dreaming. For one brief moment the idea crossed his mind and became filled with dread, only after reviewing the facts did he allow himself to once again be filled with the growing feeling of euphoria.

"Oh, yes, I bet. Hmmm, this is bit I like the most."

Jon said shuffling even closer. Sherlock flinched at the closeness, he was so tempted to lean forward and capture those lips. However it seemed that John might still be under the assumption that this was a dream. While it was heart warming, relieving, and oh so comforting to know that John had been feeling this way, he couldn't allow John to get into anything without being fully aware of his actions. Although Sherlock was curious as too what "bit" John was referring to…

"Wh-what bit is that?"

He asked shakily, because at this point John's closeness and scent were becoming very tempting and his body ached for more.

"This one love."

John whispered as he closed the distance between them. His lips smashed against Sherlock in a dazed feverish manner. Sherlock sat absolutely still, unsure of how to proceed. On one hand John wasn't exactly aware of what he was doing, or at least that what he was doing was actually happening, which made Sherlock feel as though he should really stop his friend and shake some sense into him. On the other hand the pressure John was applying to his lips was enough to bring stars to his eyes. He felt John warmth seeping in through his lips. Sherlock let out a tiny whimper as he tried desperately not to press forward and pin John to the bed. John let out a low hum in response and slowly pushed himself even closer. His lips parted just slightly and he let his tongue slowly brush over Sherlock's bottom lip. Sherlock gasped at the contact, John really was making him loose control of himself, every iota of his will power was focused on not tackling him back onto the bed and taking him. So he was powerless to stop John from taking advantage of Sherlock's shock and insert his tongue fully into the detective's mouth. Sherlock let out a deep moan into John's mouth. Sherlock wasn't experienced in kissing as he'd never met anyone who he seemed it would be desirable, but lack of knowledge in this matter didn't keep him from deciding that John Watson was the world's greatest kisser. He was sitting up right now and cupping the back of Sherlock's neck with his left hand. His was exploring the taller man's mouth and rubbing tongue against tongue. Sherlock felt himself being pulled onto the bed and he felt a quick jolt of panic.

"John, you-you're not dreaming. You need to-"

John recaptured his mouth and pulled Sherlock fully on top of him so that the detective was lying directly over him, his trembling arms the only force keeping there bodies from pressing together. John continued to ravish his mouth with slow but passionate kisses. John's hand traveled from Sherlock's neck and lazily made its way to his lower back. Sherlock let out a low rumble of pleasure, really wishing he had the will power to break away from this kiss. John then cupped the man's arse and applied a surprisingly strong force, sending Sherlock's hips colliding into his own. Sherlock gasped from the contact, he really had to get through to John because if he let this happen there was no way he'd ever get to do it again, and there was no way John would ever forgive him.

"John stop, please, I-I'm not ready."

It wasn't a complete lie, although he figured the morphine was making it impossible for him to convince John that he was in fact awake, so perhaps he could appeal to his emotions. If John thought that his dream Sherlock wasn't ready for the encounter, perhaps he would stop. Because in reality Sherlock had never been this close to having sex, it was his first kiss for Christ's sake!

"Oh, Sherlock. I'm sorry, c'mere."

He cooed and pulled Sherlock down beside him, allowing Sherlock to rest his head on the older man's chest. Sherlock let out a deep sigh of relief and allowed himself to remain snuggled up to the man. His scent was filling him up, his eyes had definitely gone golden at some point during the kiss, and Sherlock was aware that the events had left him with a nagging erection. However he was content. More than content, he was over-fucking-joyed that he was lying there with John. No matter the circumstances. He was reeling with excitement and realization. John liked him! John had wanted Sherlock to kiss him, to hold him, just as Sherlock had been dreaming. He felt a single tear pass down his cheek because this had been everything he'd hoped for, and while he wasn't sure if he deserved it, he knew that there was nothing that would take this feeling away from him. He was so enthralled with his swirling emotions and the smell and utter closeness of John's not slumbering form; he didn't sense the very menacing pair of eyes watching him. He didn't feel the piercing glare, and he most certainly did not smell the blood on his hands and lips.

**Oh shit! More cliff hangers! Also kisses! Hopefully I'm not too busy to update tomorrow. Also! It may not be your thing, but if you're into Peter Pan I'm reading this great new fic about it, it's seems really promising: .net/s/7872497/1/**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chp 11**

**Omg new chapter, new chapter with characters that aren't mine, in case you forgot lol. **

John drifted slowly back into consciousness as he became aware of something very warm and very heavy pinning him to the hospital bed. It wasn't so much that he minded than that he was curious, because truth be told he found the sensation rather pleasant. He shifted underneath the weight trying to determine exactly what was causing these sensations, but not wanting to open his eyes because he could tell he would be opening them to a bright hospital room, as it was now morning and the blinds had been left open. However his wriggling was cut short as the weight clamped down on him to arrest the movement. John froze (not entirely by choice mind you), there was most certainly a person in his bed. Someone holding him in place, for god knows what reasons. It may not have been rational, but he began to panic. All he could think of was Moriarty, his thugs, criminals, Afghani insurgents, and the man... His PTSD made it near impossible for him to get these troublesome thoughts from his mind, so any situation he found even slightly disturbing could soon become a full blown panic attack. His heart rate accelerated and he could feel sweat forming on his brow, his breathing became quick and shallow. Whoever this person was they seemed to notice the change in John's condition and quickly rolled off him. He was terrified of what was to come next; he gripped onto the sheets so tightly that his knuckles became white. If he hadn't been in such bad shape he'd strike back, but he knew he was in no condition to fight, and he didn't like the idea of upsetting someone who might have plans to kill him. If they were going to, he'd at least like it to just be over quickly.

"John?"

Sherlock's voice came out smoothly, but there was a panic behind it. He brought his hand up to John's cheek and his face smoothed out just slightly. Sherlock had never seemed a fan of physical contact. In fact he often avoided touching people, especially John, much to his disliking. Sherlock always seemed a bit shaken up after John would hug him or if they were forced to be too close to one another for whatever reason. John had assumed he had experienced some past trauma, but now he supposed it could have been contributed by his heightened wolf senses.

"Sherlock? What are you doing in my bed?"

He decided now would be a good time for him to open his eyes and was graced with the image of Sherlock blushing. Sherlock was a man who didn't give much thought for others feelings or boundaries, nor did he concern himself with social regularities, so John couldn't reason out what exactly had elicited such a response.

"I…John, do you remember anything from last night?"

John scrunched his brow, trying to summon forth his memories. He remembered Sherlock trying to explain his condition…he remembered passing out, but neither of those seemed to explain why a now very red Sherlock Holmes was in his bed.

"I guess so…I know I blacked out during your explanation…sorry about that by the way."

Now it was his turn to blush, because he had known the reason he blacked out was because of this new found closeness and how it was interfering with his already strong feelings for his flat mate.

"Don't be."

Sherlock said quickly.

"John, it is not for you to be sorry about your condition. This was my doing, not yours, please do not apologize for what is not your fault…now, do remember any of what I said? Or maybe anything that may have happened after you lost consciousness?"

John was drawing a blank, he remembered Sherlock saying they were mates, the memory sent a shiver down his spine. He recalled Sherlock had said he needed to say something else, but then he had felt that closeness and soon the rolling darkness. Other than that he had slept soundly through the night…right? He had even had a rather nice dream, one that he hoped Sherlock was not in the bed for, the idea seemed rather indecent.

"You were saying we were mates, and then I was out. As for afterwards…this is the first I've been awake since."

Sherlock seemed to shift uncomfortably. John really wished he would just explain what was going on. He was beginning to get anxious himself with all these questions and nervous motions.

"I-well I-UGH! It shouldn't be this hard to communicate! Why is it that every time I talk to you my mind goes blank? All the evidence is pointing towards the fact that this should be a very easy conversation that you will agree whole heartedly…But…"

Sherlock ran his hands through his curls and let out a heavy sigh. John wasn't sure exactly what Sherlock was getting at, but he could tell it was something that the detective needed to get off his mind. So he reached forward and placed his left hand on Sherlock's right shoulder.

"But what Sherlock?"

"But I get these feelings, these dreadful feelings. They cloud my mind and make it near impossible for me to make a proper decision. I feel as though you will reject…my proposal, because of the deficiencies that I have categorized in myself."

He trailed off and lost eye contact with John. He seemed very distraught over whatever it is he needed to tell John. He tightened his grip on Sherlock's shoulder to encourage the man to continue. His eyes rose to meet John's, and John just gave him a supportive smile.

"There is nothing that you can say, that I will reject. How many times have you managed to convince me it's perfectly alright to store cadavers in the fridge? Hmm? Human body parts cohabitating with my food, if that doesn't convince you I don't know what will. Clearly I'm incapable of saying no to you."

This seemed to be what he needed to hear as Sherlock let a smile slowly spread across his face and his eyes grew soft.

"Yes, you do tend to allow me to get away with an awful lot… John, Just promise you will let me explain. Even if you are angry, just let me finish so you can understand why, ok? I'm telling you that you have to like my reasons, but at least let me tell them to you."

"Of course."

John straightened up and removed his hand, fully alert listening mode; no way would he allow himself to drift out of this one. Sherlock needed him to be attentive, so he gave him his undivided attention. Sherlock paused for a beat, but then his words began to spew forth in a frenzied manner. Like if he stopped for just a moment he would loose all courage to continue. He explained how his abilities made it hard to be around John; how John made him feel….How he had been going mad wanting to tell him. He confessed to being jealous of Sarah, to wanting to hurt her. He explained that he was afraid John wouldn't accept him. Then he took in a deep shaky breath, and briefly looked to his feet and then slowly back to John. Sherlock continued on to say how the previous night he had tried to tell John all these things but he had been out. He went on to say that later that night John woke up.

John froze. He did not remember that. He told John how he'd woken up and thought that he was dreaming, how he had adamant that he was dreaming, and how he kissed Sherlock. Jesus Christ he had kissed Sherlock! It wasn't just another one of his fantasies! This was horrible…or was it? Hadn't Sherlock already admitted he liked John? That he was in fact infatuated with him? He had hadn't he? Yes, and he was speaking of their kiss with the faintest of smiles and a glazed fuzzy sort of gaze and his fingers subconsciously were tracing his own lips. John felt something in his gut release one thousand fluttering butterflies. Sherlock face frowned as he said that it was wrong of him to kiss John, while he was under the influence of morphine, how he should have pulled away, or at least gotten out of the bed when John had fallen asleep. He looked remorseful, genuinely guilty, as he apologized for taking advantage of John but that he was just too swept up in the feel of John.

Sherlock stopped talking and just stared intently at his feet. John was in shock, this was everything he had hoped for, all he had wanted since he had first agreed to move in with his mysterious flat mate.

"I'll understand, John, if you do not reciprocate my sentiments. It's entirely possible your fantasies have little to do with me as a person but more to do with-"

His sentence was cut short by the force of John's lips against his own. Sherlock's eyes went as wide as saucers and he was stricken still. John presses more quick light kisses on his lips, on both his cheeks, along his jaw line, and finally one at the center of the man's forehead. John pulled away slowly, a warm smile taking over his features. Sherlock looked as though he were going to weep and John worried that perhaps kissing him hadn't been the correct course of action. Just as he was about to apologize a large goofy grin took residence on the detective's face. John's heart fluttered and it was like he was 15 again. Faster than John could perceive, Sherlock pulled John in for a large hug, squeezing far too tight for comfort. He seemed so happy though that John despaired at the thought of telling him to end the hug. However as the embrace tightened and he feared the refracturing of his ribs and found that speaking up might be imperative for his health.

"Sherlock"

He managed to squeak out. Sherlock let go quickly and looked at John with large child like eyes. He seemed panicked, worried, and just a bit disappointed (possibly at himself). John gave a weak smile and patted Sherlock on the cheek.

"Just a bit too tight, love."

Sherlock gave a sheepish smile as a blush slowly rose to his cheeks.

"Sorry, guess I got a bit…carried away."

"Quite alright, let's just hold on the bear hugs until my ribs have fully healed, ok?"

"Ok"

They sat there for a while Just reveling in the fact that this was really happening, they were really together now. Well, maybe no one had said those words to officiate the matter, but they had told each other how they truly felt, how they'd been feeling. Everything seemed perfect, and even though John knew Sherlock would smack him if he ever said it aloud, he was sort of glad Moriarty had kidnapped him.

"John, I think it is vital that we get you out of this hospital as soon as possible. You're not safe here."

Sherlock added quickly, John just gave quick nod.

"Yes, I agree. Besides, this bed is far too small if you plan on curling up next to me every night."

Sherlock once again gave a deep blush and let out a quick huff of breath.

"Yes, well….hhgghmm, only if that ok with you of course."

"Oh, it's more that ok."

With that John pulled Sherlock in for another soft kiss on the lips. Sherlock just melted into it and slowly lowered them both so that they were lying on the pillow facing each other. The kisses remained very soft as clearly Sherlock was now concerned about hurting the doctor. John leaned in closer to Sherlock and did his best to try and ignore the growing feeling that a pair of far too familiar eyes were watching him…and waiting.

**Ooooooh! I know something you don't know! **

**p.s. ack! I have just become aware that the websites I was posting are not working (I'm a fucking genius I know). So if you want to fallow me on tumblr my url is carpesherlock, I did post that fan art a while ago but you could probably find it in my archive…if you're interested anyway. Also the Peter Pan story is called "The Boy" it's a romance/adventure, it's pretty graphic in a violence sort of way so be warned.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chp 12**

**I was writing this and I realized, Jesus, 12 chapters. I feel like I've written like…4. Oh well, hope you like it, some pretty interesting shit this chapter. Things may get a bit intense just so you know (there may be some references to child abuse just to be warned). These are not my characters, please don't rub it in. **

It felt nice, being back at the flat. There was the comfortable familiarity of it which was both welcoming and helpful. Welcoming because they both had grown to miss the smell of Mrs. Hudson's cooking and the softness of their own beds. Helpful because with the blossoming of their romantic relationship, it provided them their old routines to alleviate some of the awkwardness that accompanies growing closeness. Sherlock was currently deep in though on the sofa, hands pressed together as if in prayer beneath his chin. He only opened his eyes when he heard John's feet softly padding down the stairs.

"John? Could you make me some tea?"

He asked in a tone that made it seem more of a demand. John turned and looked at the tall man.

"I could, if we had any, I'm headed off to the Tesco now. Anything else you might want?"

"You."

"Excuse me?"

John blushed and Sherlock leapt from the couch and with a few swift steps was perched right in front of the shorter man.

"I want you. More precisely I want you to stay with me, I suppose since you insist on having us eat regularly shopping will have to be done. I will accompany you."

John took a step back and waved his hand in front of him as if to signal 'stop'.

"Oh no, remember what happened last time I took you shopping? We're not allowed within 50 meters of the place! No, you can wait a bit. I'll only be about 30 minutes and then you can have me all to yourself."

The phrase gave John far too many lovely ideas about how the rest of the afternoon could be spent and he gave a slight shudder. Normally this would have caused Sherlock to shudder as well, being able to see all too well what his partner was imagining. However this time he just gave an ice cold stare.

"John, don't make me command you. This is for your own safety, who knows where Moriarty is, or what he's planning. I won't have you walking into a trap. They do know where you do the shopping you'll remember, or is you brain power so limited?"

John clenched his fists. He was used to Sherlock's rough manner, it was how he communicated his concern, but _command_? He straightened his back out and met the cold glare with his own steely one.

"Command me, and that will be the last thing you ever do. I mean it. It's not funny Sherlock, you don't get to just control my life as you see fit. You want me to do something, reason with me. But don't you ever _command_ me, are we clear?"

John was pointing his finger at Sherlock in a demanding manner. His lips tinned and Sherlock knew that the man meant business. He lowered his gaze momentarily, it was clear he had made a mistake. He wanted John to stay close to him, but how was he supposed to convince the world's most stubborn man?

"Well I wouldn't have to if you just listened for once."

"Oh, so you're the responsible one now? Like I'm the one shooting of guns at 2 in the morning or going off chasing after criminals by myself at ungodly hours in the worst bits of town."

"Well it's different for me. I have the wolf, I can protect myself. Plus I'm not idiotic enough to go walking straight into a trap!"

"Oh really-ha-there's a laugh, ok, fine. You can do whatever you please because you're some half dog thing and I get to be locked in forever to be your man servant, excellent!"

"Oh please, you're acting like a child. I would never allow a servant to treat me as you do."

"Sod off."

John turned roughly and headed for the door.

"Great counterpoint John, were you on your school's debate team?"

John shot him one last glare as he opened the door and then proceeded to slam it behind him. The noise made Sherlock flinch and he then smacked his with both his hands and held them there. He let out a loud bellow as the anger swirled around inside his mind. This was all wrong! He lashed out at the lamp near by causing it to smash violently against the wall. How could John think that of him? How could he have lead him to believe it, why did he always have to fuck everything up? He just got John, finally felt right, now he was going to drive him away! John thought he was trying to enslave him? He would never; he just wanted the moron to be safe!

Right, safe. At that thought Sherlock threw on his coat and dashed out the door. Maybe John didn't want him accompanying him, but that didn't mean he couldn't keep a watchful eye. Even before he'd marked him John was easy to follow, but now it was child's play. He opened the window in the corridor and climbed out onto the fire escape. It took less than a second for him to shimmy up to the roof and spot John's cab a few blocks away. He ran along the roof tops faster than any human could dream. Faster than even the great John Watson, that's why he needed Sherlock to keep him safe. John just didn't understand how feeble humans really were, mostly because he probably couldn't conceive just how powerful some of the lesser known beings of the world could be.

He jumped and bounded roof top to roof top, now fully up to speed with the cabbie. It took a right turn and then came to a slow stop in front of the Tesco. John got out of the cab after a moment then walked over to the entrance but stopped suddenly as he heard someone call out his name.

"John! John Watson!"

Called out a deep baritone. Sherlock was half way down the building as the man made his way across the street. There was no way he'd take a chance that this was one of Moriarty's men. No, there was no way he'd let them run off with John ever again. By the time he reached the bottom he realized John hadn't given a reply. Not typical behavior for John, even if he was in a mood. More troublesome, the scent of an elder werewolf was near by. Not good. Sherlock turned to see John visibly shaking as the man made his approach. Sherlock certainly wasn't going to sit around and wait for an invitation; he began to run towards the two men at lightening speeds. He had assumed the man approaching John had been the werewolf, but he hadn't planned on him to be waiting for Sherlock. He grabbed John, who surprisingly gave no resistance, and dragged him into the ally Sherlock had jumped into, meeting him half way before John had even blinked. They stood there for half a second before the man curled his hand around the back of John's neck causing him to quake from the sudden contact. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and tried not to spontaneously combust. The man was _touching_ John, _his_ John. Sherlock shook with rage.

"You get your hands off of him you vial piece of shite!"

Sherlock sneered dangerously as his eyes began to glow golden. His form was seizing with the growing urge to shift and attack the criminal.

"My hands are where they belong Mr. Holmes. You are the one claiming what is not rightfully yours!"

He hissed, tightening his grip on John's neck. Sherlock inched forward and the man took a step back and drew John closer. Far too close, no, John should never be so close to anyone but Sherlock. The thought of John so close alone was enough to invoke his wrath, but the fact that he was so obviously disturbed by it…Sherlock began mapping out all of the man's pressure points and deduced weaknesses. His eyes raked over the man's body, and began to have an odd thought…

"What in the hell do you mean by that."

Sherlock spat back at the man. He doubted John had any fondness for the man judging by his growing discomfort and obvious fear of him. So who was this man to think he had any claim over John? John didn't let anyone control him (that's what got them here in the first place), but then why was he so easily subdued by this man? Who was this man? He had a good idea, but he needed facts, not just gut feelings or unsubstantial observations.

"You marked him! You bastard! He was not yours to take!"

He was near convulsing now too, and his nails were digging into John's soft pink flesh. Sherlock winced at the sight, if John wasn't so close he'd pounce the man and take his life right there.

"What, was he yours? Sorry, I didn't get the memo."

"You insufferable prick. He's too stupid to know any better! He never noticed, didn't know what had been promised. They evidence was in front of his eyes, his sister even tried to tell him, until she gave trying to 'free her conscious' and started drowning herself in liquor."

"Notice what?"

"That I had spoken with my pack leader, he had promised me that after a number of years of diligent contributions to the pack he would oversee the ceremony. _I was to scent him!" _

At that John lurched over and vomited. Sherlock's eyes widened, his observation may have just become a disgustingly real fact. Sherlock tried to reach out to John, to comfort him, steal him away from this monster. The man was having none of it though, he pulled John roughly against himself and took a step back.

"Well there isn't much that can be done now, is there? Besides it's not likely your pack leader would allow you to scent him against his will, it's frowned upon these days."

The man flashed a sickening smile as he brought his gaze from Sherlock to John's trembling form.

"You'd be surprised what they'll let you get away with to help them with some dirty work. An' I do some of the dirtiest work of all don't I John-John?"

His grasp on the back of John's neck turned into a sort of perverse caress. John's face paled at the motion and looked as though he were trying terribly hard not to vomit again. Now Sherlock had had it, he had to find a way out of this now. Right now. There was no way he could watch John suffer for another moment. He took a step closer and clenched his hands into fists.

"Well then you've only one obstacle then don't you? You can force such a thing? Fine, but not as long as he's been marked by me. You want him, you'll have to fight me for him, claim him as yours."

John's eyes widened further if it was even possible and he looked ready to collapse. The man lifted his piercing stare from John back to Sherlock and snarled loudly as if to steak his claim.

"I assure you, this was indeed my plan. I had hoped John would be a bit more cooperative, but it seems I've once again extended him far too much credit. I will fight you Mr. Holmes, and I will undoubtedly kick your ass. Not today though, I've got some business to finish up first. But trust me, I'll be close by."

With that he threw John at Sherlock and made a quick escape. As much as he longed to rip the man's throat out and gnaw on his flesh, he was much more concerned about catching John. He did as skillfully as he could and slowly lowered the two of them to the ground so that he could cradle John right there. He slowly rocked them back and forth whilst patting down the older man's hair. He wanted to ask John if he was right, have John shower him with praise as usual and then proceed to chase after the man and rip him limb from limb. However John was racked with sobs and cried into the crook of Sherlock's arm. His pain, it was so clear, and Sherlock could do nothing to stop it what done was done, and from what he could tell it was a long time ago. He wanted to erase that pain, but he was at a loss of just how. He figured reassuring him of Sherlock's willingness to kill and fight anyone who so much as looked at John funny

"John, I've got You. Don't worry."

John let out a faint whimpering noise and for another few moments fell silent.

"Sherlock…do you know? Did you figure it out, my own dirty little secret."

He whispered and pressed his head harder against Sherlock's firm chest.

"Yes John, I did…I'm so sorry John.

"Not your fault, just do me a favor. Don't tell anyone down at New Scotland Yard."

"Of course not. John…"

"Yes?"

"I plan to kill him slowly for what he'd done to you, now and then."

"Oh Sherlock, please don't, he's a powerful man he-"

"So am I, don't worry John."

He placed a gingerly kiss on John's forehead.

"By the end of this week your father will be dead."

**Oh! The plot thickens!**

**I would like to add that p0wergirl brought something to my attention in one of her (assuming you're a girl, sorry if you're not, no h8) lovely comments! Yes I do plan on there being some hard core slash smut, no I will not tell you when, yes a cliff hanger will probably be involved somehow. **


	13. Chapter 13

**Chp 13 **

**These characters are not mine, but they are my division ;) **

"He's not my father."

John stated plainly. It was out of the blue and very matter of fact. Sherlock turned over and considered the man. John was sitting (if you could call it that with how rigid his back was, clearly he was uncomfortable) in he arm chair back at 221b. Which had been doing since they got back, after a particularly long shower though, he had just sat there staring off. That is until just then when he uttered a very confusing declaration. Sherlock had begun to suspect their relation after he observed their similar ear and nose structures, but he was sure when John gave no further argument in the ally. Another confusing aspect of the whole situation was that John seemed to be opening up a discussion that in most cases he would have deemed finished. John rarely spoke on matters that bothered him so intensely (something that he found highly annoying), so it was odd he was bringing the conversation back up without any coaxing. Perhaps he was finally taking some of his therapists advice, opening up.

"I mean biologically speaking, yes, but not in any other way."

Sherlock had observed as much, but he wanted to hear what John had to say about it, and he figured John needed to say what was on his mind to ease his mental state.

"He was almost never around when I was real little, and he always seemed to take more of a liking to Harry. He'd rough me up a bit when I did something that upset him…"

Sherlock noticed that 'a bit' was probably a gross understatement as he saw John subconsciously trace over a particularly troubling scar that just barely peeked out from underneath his sleeve. He gripped the arm of the couch and tried to conceal his growing fury. This man had taken John at the prime of his innocence and…he couldn't finish that thought, not without dashing out of the flat and hunting that man down.

"But other than that he was just…the man…or that's what I'd call him. He was the one who'd provide for our family and come around a couple times a week to eat, sleep, and yell. My mom said that it was would be best if I just kept my distance, believe me I tried…"

He let out a weak chuckle, but it didn't reach his eyes. Sherlock was vibrating with hate. She knew, that insufferable woman knew, Sherlock could just sense it. She knew what was going to happen, what was happening, she knew and she did nothing about it. The only explination he could offer was that she clearly could not have been a werewolf (As neither was John) and was perhaps too scared of the man. That wasn't good enough though, no, not by a long shot. Sherlock would cross hell and back if it meant sparing John such misery, such unspeakable horror.

"I got a bit older and he got…strange. He said that I-I…smelt good."

John lowered his head and took in a shaky breath. Yes, why hadn't Sherlock thought of that before. John's scent, it wasn't just his own personal drug, for whatever reason the man possessed an unbelievably great scent. He suspected it must be in part because he had some wolf DNA buried deep within, but it could also be pure coincidence. At any rate it was stupid of Sherlock not to consider that many werewolves must have been attracted to John, not just himself. He wouldn't doubt that a majority of his dates over the years had been werewolves. However intoxicating his scent though, his father shouldn't have taken notice; John's smell was by no means any excuse. It's true that scents were very powerful, and could even be used as a means of controlling werewolves, but ones own child…it was sickening. Some cases reported that werewolf parents indulged in these perverse activities with their children more often than human ones, but that probably just had more to do with a slightly lower level of will power due to the onslaught of senses rather than a higher amount of perverts.

"Harry would say the same thing but…she never…touched me."

Sherlock held tighter to the arm of the chair. Half of him wanted to bolt out the door and pummel the man who had done this and anyone who dared get in the way. The other half wanted to leap forward and take hold of John and never let go. Neither were an option as Sherlock decided that this was something John needed to say, something he needed to tell Sherlock.

"He said a couple times…afterwards…that it was my-my fault. That if it weren't for my smell he wouldn't be so…addicted."

John shuddered and leaned forward a bit. His eyes were becoming glazed and misty. Sherlock knew that many who suffered from PTSD experienced flash back or intrusive thoughts, so he thought that now might be the time to speak up. He didn't want John lingering on such terrible memories.

"John, you know it was not your fault. Your father is a perverse man. Even a werewolf shouldn't have those feelings for a child, especially not their own."

John nodded his head to indicate that he understood. But his eyes were filled with a growing sadness Sherlock could feel seeping through his bones. Their connection was strong and John's increasing discomfort was now bringing tears to Sherlock's eyes.

"John, it's not your fault. Don't be an idiot."

"Maybe you're the idiot here Sherlock, did you ever consider that?"

John shouted and stood abruptly from his chair. Sherlock was shocked at the outburst, John rarely took such a tone with him. Perhaps he had said something…not good. Yes, perhaps idiot was the wrong term. He just wanted John to realize that this was obviously not his fault though. He was curious however, as to what John had intended by the accusation.

"How am I the idiot John? What have I done to indicate anything less than a genius level IQ?"

John shuffled awkwardly and then held a cold stare to Sherlock's inquiring one. It made his blood run cold. John seemed more than just a little upset about his observation.

"My scent, my smell, you think it has little to do with this? It has everything to do with this, my dad is one your kind, and my smell is what kept him coming back. I knew it was my smell even back then, my dad's DNA may be a bit of news to me but it doesn't change what I've always known, it just explains it. My smell was a drug to him, he said so, said it made him high-that he was addicted. Well, what's to say you're not falling into the same trap? You're ex-addict anyway, you're probably more prone. I've always wondered why you took me in as a flat mate when you had no need of one with the money you have in your trust fund, but this fits. It was my smell right? You wanted to be around it, more and more. You wanted me in your flat so you could smell me up. You're addicted to it and you don't even realize! Now that we're together…you know that you can smell me more, like he did, and you're just gonna want more, all the time. What if one day I'm tired, and you need your fix, what if I say no-"

Sherlock then shot out of his chair and came within centimeters of John's face, staring him down with a calculating glare.

"Do you really think I am capable of such a thing?"

John stepped back with a motion that tore out Sherlock's heart, though he showed no indication.

"I think that you've been tricked, by me, by this stupid smell. I think that you don't realize what a hold it has over you. You might not be able to stop yourself, my own father…"

"Stop it. You're trying to blame your father's actions on yourself, stop it. You hear me? Your smell may very well act as a drug to our kind, perhaps it's even the reason I showed initial interest in you, but it is no excuse for any sort of sexual assault. I would never hurt you, in any way, ever. That will never happen because if I ever even felt the tiniest inkling that I was capable of that, I would kill myself before I got the chance."

Sherlock felt ready to cry, this wasn't right. John was afraid of him, afraid of what he could do. John should know he was the last person Sherlock would ever hurt, the thought made him sick. If John didn't want to be near him though, if he felt uncomfortable, then perhaps it was best to just leave him be. He turned away, tears rimming his eyes, just as he was about to make a mad dash for his bedroom he felt a trembling hand grab hold of his shirt sleeve. He looked back into John's watering eyes, tears were streaking his face and he looked as if he had just personally strangled a puppy. His face was filled with guilt, deep sadness, and a sort of self loathing. John always seemed to make everything his fault, which was almost always not the case.

"I-I'm sorry Sherlock, it was wrong of me to…I know you would never. I just get…nervous. He kind of has this…hold over me. I didn't even date until I went away to university. I'm sorry; I just have a lot of feelings being dug up."

He lowered his hand along with his gaze and shuffled a few steps away.

"I'll understand if you want to rethink things or-"

"Shut up."

Sherlock drew John in for a large hug and tried not to squeeze him too hard. After a moment John reciprocated, wrapping his arms around the taller man. He shook slightly with a few silent sobs.

"I'm sorry Sherlock."

He gasped out after a few minutes. Sherlock held him tighter to his chest and placed a few kisses on the top of his head.

"Don't be, just don't ever think I could hurt you, ok? Because honestly the thought causes me much concern."

John pulled away slightly so that he could look up into the detectives eyes. Sherlock looked down at the man's smiling face and found one spreading on his own.

"What?"

He asked, unsure of why John had changed his mind set so suddenly.

"You. I think…Well I think I love you."

**Are you ready for the shit storm that about to strike? No? Didn't think so.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Chp 14**

**Oh! Time to start up the shit storm (with characters who are not mine I might add)! Hope you're all ready (pretty strong language by the way, and some more upsetting references to abuse). **

Sherlock took the taxi ride down with out making a single sound. He was deep in contemplation. His conversation with Mycroft had been most enlightening. He had wanted to know whether or not Mycroft would be able to justify his killing of not only John's father, but whoever this pack leader of theirs was. While he normally didn't take into account all of the politics of these packs and their inter-workings, the last thing he needed was retaliation. Blood would most certainly lead to more blood, if the proper precautions weren't taken. Sherlock had to protect his mate (yes, John was his mate now, strange how fitting it seemed…) from any and all threats, and his father and his leader were definite threats. Mycroft had been born for both his minor position in the government and as their pack leader. While yes, Sherlock had been turned before him by an overzealous neighbor, it hadn't taken long for Sherlock to lash out and unknowingly curse his older brother with the same affliction. He rose through the ranks and quickly gained his position as pack leader. Which was helpful in allowing Sherlock to skirt his duties, and for Mycroft to clean up his messes (heroin and full moons really don't mix). Now Sherlock was calling in yet another favor, luckily his brother was compelled to comply. He may have been the 'ice man' but he certainly had a soft spot for his brother and the doctor who kept him so at peace. After a few phone calls Sherlock had a license to kill and more than enough support amongst the werewolf community to put an end to this incestuous ring of werewolves. Sherlock shuddered; he didn't want to think about that, about what had been done…

He analyzed his surroundings, he was close. Now that everything was in order, it was time to gather data. A quick trip to John's half witted sister would more than likely provide Sherlock with the necessary information to take care of these to disgusting excuses for living life forms. He relished in the thought of eradicating the pathetic men from the face of the earth. If his hypothesis was correct (which of course it probably was) Harry was a werewolf herself and therefore would not only know who their pack leader was, but what exactly it was that lead to the bargain for John's…Sherlock shook away the disturbing and intrusive thoughts following that train of thought. He had to stay focused.

The cabby pulled up to Harry's house and Sherlock slipped him a bit more than was needed. He slinked up to the door and smoothly rapped against the wood. He could tell from the door handle she'd spent a great deal of time indoors this past week. A good indicator that she was aware of some wrong doing (or that she was on some at home binge). When she opened the door and peered up at Sherlock with wide blood shot eyes and a slight tremor in her bottom lip, he suspected a bit of both.

"May I come in?"

He demanding more than asking as he pushed his way into her home.

"Yo-you're Sherlock, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with John?"

She questioned keeping a good distance. A stupid question, with even dumber implications.

"If you are insinuating that I left John unattended then you are mistaken, he is currently in the company of a well respected detective inspector and two special agents."

Sherlock took note of the fresh bruises on her forearms and knew that he hadn't been the first to come asking. She was looking anxiously and shifted her glance from him to the door.

"You were expecting me weren't you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, it's all quite clear. Was it your father? Did he come here, warn you? Tell you what to say? Don't bother answering you've said enough with that pitiful look on your face. Well, Ms. Harriet, I would advice you to ignore your father's demands and adhere to mine as I've recently acquired a license to kill and I plan to use it on your father, your pack leader, and anyone who get in my way."

He came infinitely closer, so close he could feel her quivering breaths. She smelt of alcohol and fear, good, fear would be useful. Her eyes began to water and her legs gave out beneath her.

"Jesus, I never-oh god-I never wanted any of this! You think I don't know how FUCKED UP this is? I'm his daughter too you know, John isn't the only one who's suffered here! You think I wanted to have to leave my wife! You think I asked for my father to come to my house _every_ night for the past year, demanding I become straight 'for the good of the pack', just so he could-he could…fuck. So he could fuck his son, his own sodding son. The prick sold me off so he could…"

That was it, she couldn't talk anymore, and she just broke down into a mess of sobs and incoherent wailing. Sherlock could see the need to take up drinking now; he could see it very clearly. There is no way he'd be able to live like that without some sort of mind numb. He thought for a moment that this would be the time where John would motion to comfort someone giving such a response, but Sherlock couldn't move. He was filled with sorrow for John, for John and for his sister; no one should have to be forced into such a life. Sorrow was accompanied by rage of course and Sherlock had to concentrate with much difficulty on not shifting into a wolf.

"Harry…You care for your brother, I can see that, and I know you're troubled as well. please, help me stop him, let me put an end to this."

She stood up shakily and wobbled over to her living room couch. It was large and littered with empty bottles, the coffee table in front of her held multiple more along with a couple partially filled ones. She picked up a bottle of gin and took a swig. She set the container down with a thwack and looked back up into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock took a few steps closer and seated himself on the love seat opposite her.

"Ask your fucking questions, I want to see the sod burn."

Sherlock gave a humorless smile. He seconded those sentiments whole heartedly.

"First, I need to know, what is it that your father was required to do in order to obtain…John, why hasn't he accomplished it yet? It sounded as though he'd been trying for quite some time."

"Try twenty years. He's been growing desperate though…this past year, with the clock ticking and all."

"Clock? Please clarify."

"My biological clock. They want me to mate with, well be impregnated by, the pack leader's son. They think our kids will be some superior breed or some shit. Whatever it is that John has, is buried in my DNA. They think that if a werewolf possessed it they'd be extra powerful and all this other bull shit, honestly it all sounds like a real load to me. Of course the pack leader thinks him and his family are already superior so we're a perfect match apparently. Accept of course that we're both as gay as all hell. Or at least I assume he's gay, although by the looks of him I think he wouldn't mind having sex with me, so long as some sort of leather and blood were involved. The dude's a psycho. Of course I've refused, the pack leader would be more insistent (probably would have arranged to do it with or without my consent really) if it weren't for the fact that his son isn't to keen to the idea. My dad knows that without that wretched child in the world though he'll never get what he wants. The pack leader will never allow him to…scent John."

Sherlock took a steadying breath. This was all so perverse, honestly he didn't know how much of this he could listen to with out either rushing out and killing the man or bending over and vomiting. He had one more question though, and he knew he wasn't going to like the answer. No, the facts may not have all been there, but something in his gut told him that this horrific little thought would indeed be truth.

"Who is your pack leader and where kind I find him?"

She leaned back into the couch and ran her hands through her ragged hair.

"He lives in some posh flat downtown in the building he owns. As for the name, well…you're not going to like this, his name is Bertolf Moriarty."

With that Sherlock shot of his seat and headed for the door, before he could race out into the cool night air Harry grabbed hold of his shoulder. She was fast, especially for a drunk.

"Be careful. Being around John…it can make you stronger, faster, and certainly enough of him can give you a bloody good high, but the Moriarty's…my father, their not going to go down easy. I've seen good men wind up dead for messing with them."

"It's serendipitous then that I am in fact not a very good man."

He turned to leave but was once again held by Harry's strong grip.

"I mean it Sherlock, be careful. If you die, then John is fair game again, and honestly they might change their minds on how willing I have to be to undergo this pregnancy. If you…if you die, then you can bet that John won't go unmarked for long."

With that she let go of his arm and he bolted out the door. There was no way in hell anyone would be doing anything to John. John was his, and only his, and the time had come to make it clear. He would kill them, all of them, and he would return to John alive. Because failure was not an option, not by a long shot.

**The next few chapters are going to get bloody! The shit storm has officially begun ladies and gentlemen! Also, a bit of a spoiler, there will be some serious character death. You know, so look forward to that. **


	15. Chapter 15

**Chp 15 **

**Warning! Death and violence are in this chapter! (Not my characters). Also I switch to calling Moriarty, Jim since there's two Moriarty's now…technically. **

It didn't take Sherlock long to reach the flat, even less time for him to realize that all his intended targets were inside. His text to Jim wasn't specific, but it was most certainly clear. This is where it ended; Sherlock had no intention on leaving that place with any of the monsters inside left breathing. He coolly walked inside the building and took note of the multiple members of the wolf pack milling about in the lobby, eying him anxiously. Sherlock knew they wouldn't do anything to him, no; they were there to keep others out. The creatures that were awaiting his arrival upstairs wanted this as much as he did, wanted it to be just them. He entered the elevator and pressed the button for the 30th floor and took in a rough breath. He'd been on the verge of shifting since the ally, and his body ached for the change, the utter loss of control, the feel of blood splattering on his black fur. He had done little else than imagine how to get where he was in the past few days. As the elevator rose Sherlock felt his energy spiking along with it. He was such a mixture of emotions that if you asked him how he felt, he would honestly not know what to tell you. He felt a readiness to kill, to take out revenge; he also had a fear of death. Not in purely selfish terms (in fact you could say they weren't selfish at all, he had long since stop caring for his own well being as John often notes) but in concern to John. In fact it wasn't fear; it was raw horror at the thought of what might happen if he failed. He couldn't hide the fact that he was also a bit excited to feel the tear of flesh beneath his claws (that would give something for Sally to talk about). He of course had a strong hold on his swelling anger. Anger, at this point, was the most distinguishable thing he could make out. He was angry at Moriarty (the younger) for making him scent John, not only for his own sick amusement, but clearly for his own personal interest. He was angry that Bertolf would want such a trade to take place. That he was sick enough that he didn't care what perversions he was allowing. Most of all though, he was inconceivably pissed that a sick fuck like John's father had lived past infancy.

The bones in his hands began to rearrange themselves as he passed the 26th floor. His thoughts were consuming him, and pushing the change on him with a rushed intensity. He needed to hold out just a little longer though; he knew shifting inside an elevator was a bad idea. The doors opened with a ding and he would see the three of them seated on an obviously pricey leather couch. Jim Moriarty has his legs crossed in far too relaxed manner, and the smile that begins spreading across his face is sickening. Bertolf looks just like Jim other than the graying hair and wrinkling face. He holds a cold glare with a violent undertone; if he hadn't already deduced it Sherlock would now be realizing with just that glare that this man was not one to be tampered with. John's…genetic donor (John had said he didn't call him father, and Sherlock wanted to respect his wishes. At any rate the man certainly wasn't very fatherly) was perched beside Bertolf and surged forward at the sight of Sherlock. Sherlock stiffened, ready to take on the challenge, when Bertolf restrained the man.

"Welcome to my home Mr. Holmes, I've been eagerly awaiting your arrival."

Sherlock failed at holding back a rather vicious snarl which only resulted in a menacing smirk from Bertolf. He stood, slowly, and deliberately, never breaking eye contact. It was a challenge; Sherlock knew the man was testing his resolve, trying to determine just how over edge Sherlock was. Sherlock was sure his eyes must have screamed murder because Bertolf smile just widened and took another step closer.

"Sherlock, I wish it didn't have to be this way, really I do, but you leave me little choice. I really wish you hadn't scented the boy, honestly I don't know what you were thinking, and you didn't even have someone to preside over the ceremony."

Did he really not know the circumstances of the scenting? Perhaps this was just some game, Jim certainly seemed fond of toying with people, stands to reason is father might. Something in his tone, and the look on Jim's face, gave Sherlock the impression that perhaps the man truly did not know. This could work in his favor though, throw them off guard. He had to try; he needed any advantage he could take.

"On the contrary, your son was there."

Bertolf turned roughly to shoot daggers from his eyes at Jim as he laid back into the couch. Jim simply shrugged and rolled his eyes.

"I was bored."

He said with an exasperated sigh. Bertolf edged closer to his son and raised his hand to him. Jim looked intently at the raised hand and stiffened his body as if ready to pounce. Clearly this pack was very lacking in proper family values. Bertolf's hand shook with a rage that Sherlock found both terrifying and satisfying.

"You idiot! What were you thinking! Promises were made, alliances forged! Do you have any idea what your toying with here? We are on the brink of developing a master race, and you come in just when we're so close and fuck everything up! You truly are your mother's son, pathetic fool, incapable of seeing the bigger picture."

Jim sneered and stood up himself, pushing himself centimeters from his fathers face.

"I'm no _fool_; your ideas of a master race are unimaginative and boring! I'm not looking to create some mutant freak that'll be able to overthrow me at a moments notice! Besides, all the science shows that Harriet would have to carry the thing in her womb in order to ensure it possessed both the werewolf genes and the enhancing capabilities of John's mutation, it would be near impossible to keep her from harming the child."

The two men stood for a few tense minutes staring each other down with their equally chilling glares. Mr. Watson stood up and rotated his shoulders and then looked over at Bertolf expectantly.

"My apologies Watson, we should be getting on with it, yes. Well, Jim, despite your cock up I think things should still be going rather smoothly. Once Sherlock is dead we can collect Harriet and John and begin testing. If all goes well Watson can be scenting John by the end of next week and we'll be well on our way to a brighter tomorrow, for the good of the pack."

Watson's face contorted into a stomach-churning grin, Sherlock clenched his fists and focused on not vomiting. Jim rolled his eyes again in a more agitated manner and seemed to mumble what sounded like 'more like the good of your ego'. Watson and Bertolf stepped forward towards Sherlock in an ominous manner. Sherlock took a step closer himself, not wanting to seem intimidated. Although, if he were to be honest with himself, he hadn't gotten into a fight in a long time and these men seemed far more practiced, not to mention they out numbered him, he was terrified that he may loose. He may loose and cost John his freedom. Jim sat himself back down on the couch and let out an agitated huff.

"Any last words, Sherlock?"

Bertolf asked with a wide grin as his eyes began to turn bright red. Sherlock nodded and allowed the change to begin.

"After I kill you, I'm going to let John piss on your graves."

He growled out through his now razor sharp fangs. With that all three men began shifting, growing, rearranging their bones and replacing skin with fur. They snarled, bucked, and clawed as the change over took them in fits of rage. Watson was the first to finish and he tore at Sherlock mercilessly. He was broader than Sherlock and easily pinned him. His teeth sunk into Sherlock's still changing arm, he growled in response and attempted to push him off using his hind legs. While successful it did nothing to impede the speed of Bertolf as he approached from the side, slashing Sherlock's abdomen with jagged claws. Sherlock finished shifting and flipped himself back onto his paws. Watson rushed at him again and Sherlock quickly whipped his paw across the wolf's snout and tearing at his flesh with his claws. He let out a loud yelp of pain and then snarled as the blood dripped onto the floor. Bertolf pounced at Sherlock with precision knocking him to the ground and producing a loud grunt from his crushed form. He had defiantly cracked a rib and without a full moon it would take an hour or two to heal. Sherlock gnashed his teeth and ripped out a patch of fur on the wolf's neck.

Jim was looming in the back, smiling on as he observed the fight, his eyes shining blood red with delight. Watson edged closer and snarled as Bertolf breathed heavily over Sherlock. He was affectively pinned and he began to panic, this couldn't happen, he couldn't have failed John, he just couldn't have. He writhed underneath the wolf and once again attempted to use his hind legs to kick off the attacker. Instead he only succeeded in gashing his stomach. Bertolf growled and bit into Sherlock's shoulder viciously ripping a chunk of flesh out. Sherlock's eyes watered at the searing pain and bucked frantically against the powerful figure. Again and again Bertolf tore at Sherlock's flesh, leaving behind horrible gashes. Blood was gushing out at an alarming pace and Sherlock was growing far too weak to do anything about it.

Just then, with a flash of light and a loud bang, Bertolf's head was missing a substantial chunk out of the left side. His body slunk and rested on top of Sherlock limply. Jim smiled wickedly and kissed the barrel of his gun with an audible his as his lips were seared by the heated metal. Although he'd never thought it possible before Sherlock could see that the melting of his flesh made his smile even more disturbing, even as it was healing. Jim proceeded to grab a patch of his father's fur and hurl his lifeless body across the room with incredible strength. Watson eyed him suspiciously and took a few steps back. By law Jim was now his leader, and therefore he'd have to wait for his new orders, unsure of what he intended for Sherlock. Sherlock felt the same unease as he wondered to what purpose Moriarty would murder his own father and affectively save his life.

"Rather about time wouldn't you say Watson? We've needed a regime change for a while now if you ask me. Plus, I couldn't let him kill my favorite play thing now could I? No, we both know that that honor is reserved for me."

Sherlock tried to move to his feet, make an attempt for an escape. He could always come back and fight if he could manage to get out, if he died, well he had no idea what Jim had in store. However when he shifted his weight all he felt was the intense pain his injuries were causing him, and the head pounding results of a substantial amount of blood loss.

"Now-now Sherly, don't try any funny business, we both know that it's quite useless. Hmm, he messed you up pretty good didn't he? Yes, real nice work, my dad was always one to do a marvelous job of turning a body into a masterpiece. You should have seen the job he did on my mother…any whoooOOoo, he's gone now so there'll be no more of this superior breed nonsense. I mean, honestly, he's got to be out of his mind!"

Jim flung his arms up and then looked down at Sherlock with a crazed smile. Sherlock winced at the eye contact and tried not to show how frightened he was becoming at his impending doom. He didn't want to think about what would happen to John if he didn't make it out of there.

"To think, creating something. A whole race of something's! That could easily take you out of power. I'm partial to a challenge, don't get me wrong, but I'm not looking to get myself killed…not yet anyway, not when there's still time to play such delightful games. Which I suppose I owe some thanks to you! You've been the greatest games of all! But all games must end, Sherly. Watson! I'm going to need you to finish him off, quickly if you don't mind; I've got other matters to attend to."

Watson shuffled his paws and looked up at Jim. Jim stared at him expectantly for a minute and then rolled his eyes.

"Oh yes, of course! Yes, yes, you've been very loyal and all that and I suppose you are one of our better hit men. You can scent Sherlock's little pet once you've finished up here. Besides I'm sure it will give lil' Sherly some splendid things to think about as he slips into oblivion."

Watson loomed closer and bore his teeth aggressively. No, no! This couldn't happen! Sherlock tried desperately to get away, but all he could do was shakily scoot a couple centimeters at a time. John! Not his John, no, he couldn't have failed! Not when-not when the alternative was so-with that Sherlock vomited onto the floor to his right with violent heaves. He was going to die, he was going to die in a pool of his own blood and bile, and John…John was going to be alone…with _him_.

**Next installment soon to come! Sorry for the delay, homework got in the way! Also, yeah, I actually kind felt like throwing up too when I was writing this…sorry if you felt the same. Wasn't aware of how many feels I was going to give myself thinking about John's dad…any way, like I said, next chapter should be up soon. Oh, and look forward to it because a couple of people are definitely dieing, no hints though! **


	16. Chapter 16

**Chp 16**

**OMG! Here it is folks, you think there's gonna be some death? You bet your sweet bottom there is gonna be some bloody death (NOT sorry for horrible pun!)! I may, or may not, have eaten far too much sugar and then sat down to finish up this chapter (p.s. I did). These characters are not mine, but in my sugar induced coma I can pretend for just a little while! *sobs* lol, no way, far too fucked up to be in charge of them. **

_Watson loomed closer and bore his teeth aggressively. No, no! This couldn't happen! Sherlock tried desperately to get away, but all he could do was shakily scoot a couple centimeters at a time. John! Not his John, no, he couldn't have failed! Not when-not when the alternative was so-with that Sherlock vomited onto the floor to his right with violent heaves. He was going to die, he was going to die in a pool of his own blood and bile, and John…John was going to be alone…with _**him**_. _

When Harry had arrived at the flat his first thought had been she'd once again run out of money for booze. She certainly looked like she'd started a marvelous hang over and had stared at him through blood shot eyes. For once though, Harry was there to take from him, she was there to give. She gave John the information that she had given Sherlock, and what she knew his next course of action to be. John's head had been spinning, thoughts whizzing through his mind so fast he could hardly process what was happening. He hadn't known that Harry was a victim of his father's interest in him. No, if it weren't for John and his stupid smell she would have been left alone. Then there was the fact that John's smell could…do things to werewolves. Make them high, stronger, faster? That was a lot in itself. Then there was the fact that Sherlock was headed over to face off with the man and the Moriarty's. Sherlock, _his_ Sherlock, running head first into blood thirsty teeth and claws. That was unacceptable, he knew better than to not tell John what he was up to. Ever since he'd found out about John's childhood he'd treated him different, like he was about to break, and it was getting bloody ridiculous. Now he was putting his life at risk just because he thought John was too weak to protect himself. Bullocks. He told Mycroft's men to tell their boss that he'd be heading down to save his brother, if he cared to join John it'd be much appreciated. Greg was, to say the least, confused. He hadn't known about werewolves and especially not that Sherlock Holmes had been one, but Harry did a good job of convincing him (and at helping him affectively piss his pants) they weren't just pulling his leg by shifting into her wolf form. After he had calmed down a bit and John had an argument via telephone with Mycroft about how involved John was to get with the rescue. As if anyone, even Mycroft Holmes, could convince John _not_ to go save Sherlock.

This exact order of events is what had lead John to the posh downtown building that housed one Bertolf Moriarty on the top floor. He had entered the building only after one of Mycroft's two agents knocked out all the people in the lobby keeping watch. The six of them (Mycroft, Harry, Greg, Mycroft's two men, and John) then proceeded to enter the elevator and take the painstakingly slow trip up to the top floor. John wished that Mycroft had brought more men, but he had insisted that the less people who knew, the better. Damn that man and his need for secrecy. John wanted the whole _army_ in on this! He wasn't sure what to expect when they reached the top floor, but his finger twitched against the trigger of his L9-A1. He expected blood, which normally wouldn't be so bothersome (he'd seen plenty of in Afghanistan for Christ's sake), but the thought of if being Sherlock's blood…it made his blood run cold. Greg was standing in the back quite unsure of himself and Mycroft and John took their places in the front. John may have been a human like Greg, less adept at fighting werewolves, but there was no way he wasn't going to be the first one rushing in there. The 29th floor light lit up and John took one last look around, sure to make eye contact with everyone in the elevator. He silently thanked the group for their support and bravery. Everyone replied with a stern nod of the head and they returned their focus to the metal doors as the elevator announced their arrival.

The doors opened with a whoosh and the metallic tang of blood hung heavily in the air. John looked down in horror as he saw Sherlock lying on the floor in a puddle of what looked like blood and vomit and a menacing werewolf hovering over him, prepared to sink his fangs into the detective's throat. His heart stopped and he almost dropped his gun before tightening his grip on it fiercely. Moriarty was standing close by watching on with sick fascination as the wolf drew closer to Sherlock's still body. At the groups entrance however the two of them diverted their attention and both settled their stares on John. Moriarty had the same crazed and twisted smile as usual. He had thought perhaps the other wolf was Moriarty's father until he looked into those malicious eyes. No, that was his father, he was sure of it. His spine straightened and he had a thousand voices in his head screaming at him to run. This was…_the man_. The one who had taken his childhood, his innocence, who had taken any chance of him leading a normal life. The one who had walked into his bedroom all those years ago and did things John tried to never think about, things that this man wanted to _continue_. Everyone in the elevator seemed to be waiting for something to happen, other than John and Mycroft of course. Mycroft was calculating a plan as usual, and trying desperately not to look at the pool of blood. John conversely was thinking of jumping out the closest window. He shook a bit as memories began to flood his mind and take over his thoughts. All that came to a halt when he once again focused on Sherlock's unmoving body. The man had torn Sherlock apart; almost literally, John then began to shake again, this time with rage. This was too far, this was _Sherlock_.

John took a large step forward and raised his gun at the man. He was in wolf form and technically unable to, but John could see a smirk on the edge of his lips. Worst of all he could feel the desire rolling off him. He felt like doubling over and breaking down into sobs, he managed to maintain his stance though and hold his ground. Moriarty laughed at their presence and clapped his hands. Several large wolves appeared quickly behind him moving in quickly and purposefully. Mycroft surged forward, body reconfiguring at lightening speeds, in a matter of moments he was a snarling beast (not exactly any way John would have ever imagined him, it was hard to believe this was the posh man who was always kidnapping him). His two men were right behind him and the three of them were soon fending off the other wolves. Harry placed a hand on John's shoulder and looked into his eyes; she seemed to be searching for something. He soon realized that it was forgiveness, she felt responsible. John leaned in and hugged her tightly.

"It's not your fault Harry, any of it. Don't forget you suffered too, now let's end this."

With that they broke apart and she began shifting. Greg and John stepped out of the elevator and tried to process just what they should be doing. It wasn't as if either of them could really take on any of the wolves by themselves, not head on. Their guns wouldn't be very affective unless they got a good head shot, which was difficult given their speed. John focused in on Sherlock who was still just lying there, hadn't moved a centimeter. Not good, decidedly _very_ not good. The man hadn't moved either though, which was a plus, he hadn't done any further harm, not yet. Moriarty seemed as though he found the whole situation very funny and was doing a sort of dance around the fighting wolves. Harry finished shifting and finding that there were no wolves headed towards Greg or John, but were rather preoccupied by Mycroft and his men, she charged forward colliding head on with the man.

John gasped loudly and jumped forward, unsure of what he should do. He was a man of action, he needed to do something. If he got to close though he was afraid of what the man might do. He was in a dangerous state, John would be powerless…_Sherlock_. No, there was Sherlock, lying there, possibly _dying_. John shook his head roughly; he had been so cowardly, letting his fears get in the way of his lovers life. It was time he step up and do something.

He ran to Sherlock whilst ripping off his jacket. He came in front of him and took in the sight of his horribly maimed neck. He instantly laid is jacket on top of it and applied pressure to stop the bleeding. Immediately he let out a sigh of relief as he could feel shallow but steady breathing. He raked his eyes across Sherlock's body accessing all the injuries. Other than the neck it was clear there was gash in his stomach, but by the way he had been laying he suspected some internal damage, possibly broken/fractured ribs. Hard to tell, he wasn't a vet. He removed his right hand when he felt the bleeding had slowed a bit and moved it to check and see if the stomach wound was still bleeding (it was bloody hard to tell through all the fur). At his touch however he could feel and even see the wound begin to heal. Not as quickly as he'd seen on the telly when watching those monster films, but far faster than was natural. He wondered for a moment if it might have been from is touch, if some how…but no, that was stupid, it was just Sherlock. Sherlock had the ability to heal like that because it was just another one of his amazing attributes. Although, Harry had said something about John made the werewolves stronger…it wouldn't hurt to try. He lifted the jacket and flinched slightly as he once again looked at the tearing on Sherlock's neck. He hesitantly ran his finger tips along the abrasions and watched in astonishment as they too began to close. Slowly, but it was a start.

Just then he felt a powerful hand fist his hair and yank him up violently. He gave a gasp of surprise and pain and turned to face his attacker, none other than James Moriarty. He was much stronger than he looked as he was now lifting John one handed by the hair about a meter off the ground. He attempted to free himself by kicking at Moriarty, but he seemed to anticipate John's reaction and quickly gripped on to one incoming ankle and squeezed. John let out a painful moan as he felt the bones in his ankle crinkle like paper in Moriarty's grasp.

"Oh, they were right about you, only been breathing in that delicious scent for a second and I can feel myself getting stronger already. Hmm, must do wonders for your lover boy, you two being bonded and all. Too bad you weren't here when he came initially, might have been useful."

John struggled in Moriarty's grasp and tried to wriggle himself free. Moriarty simply laughed and took his hold from John's ankle to his throat. He released John's hair and moved his hand to stroke the side of his face.

"You got your charms, but he could do so much better. Hmm, if he makes it out of here maybe I can help him with that."

He moved his gaze from John to Sherlock's now stirring form. He then looked back at John with a devilish grin.

"Too bad, you're not going to be there to see how brilliant I could make him."

His grip tightened and John could feel the lack of air becoming a serious issue, and he was becoming more and more concerned for the condition of his Hyoid. His feet twitched and he clawed at Moriarty's grip praying to loosen it just a little. He just needed a little bit of room, just one more small breath of air for his starved lungs. He looked over to Sherlock and tried to open his mouth. He wanted to say sorry, he wanted to say he had tried, that he wanted to help him, how stupid he was to have failed him; he wanted to say he loved him. Sherlock was becoming more awake by the minute but still seemed unable to move. He locked eyes with John but he didn't seem fully aware of what was happening.

"JOHN!"

John snapped his eyes back over towards the elevator to see Greg, gun raised in his direction. Greg held his gun with both hands and seemed to be doing his best to steady his aim. Time seemed to slow as John took in Greg readying himself to shoot, and the two wolves rushing in his direction. The one in head was clearly some torn up member of the Moriarty's pack, right on is tail was the wolf he recognized as Mycroft. He tried to yell out to him, tell him to move, but all that came out was a gurgle. Moriarty dug his nails into John's neck and seemed to shake a bit with laughter. In an instant things sped up in an alarming manner, and all John could see was blood. Moriarty's and more importantly, _Greg's_. The wolf tore into Greg like he like a rag doll, in seconds Mycroft was in between the two and ripping the other wolf apart. John was more concerned with Greg's now very unmoving body producing far too much blood from limbs that seemed to going in all the wrong directions.

John couldn't even call out to him, and he knew his throat was going to be a mess for at least a week. He looked over to where Moriarty had fallen just a meter away in pile of blood and brains. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Moriarty was finally dead, but it had probably cost him one of his good friends. The smell of blood was everywhere, and he was having trouble not thinking back to his time in Afghanistan, but he didn't have time for that now. He stood up and made his way over to Greg, he stumbled over some fallen debris but managed to get to him rather quickly. He knelt down and took Greg's wrist in his hand; he attempted to locate a pulse, _prayed_ to god for just a fucking pulse. Before he could a proper feel for one he heard the most horrible wail. His head snapped up and searched the scene for the source of the pain filled cry. What he found was the sight of several large beasts locked in one of the bloodiest battles he'd ever seen (which was certainly saying something). In the center of it was the man clawing away at Harry, and she was loosing fast. He would have to leave Greg for now, his sister needed him. He managed to grab his gun which had fallen next to Sherlock when he'd covered his wounds. If there was one thing that he feared more than his father, it was the possibility that he could loose his friend _and_ his sister in one night.

The man looked up at John as he approached. He stopped dead in his tracks when he was met with those big red eyes. He wanted desperately to move, to _shoot_, but this was years of torture and abuse. Every nerve in his body was screaming at him to lift his gun and shoot, but for the life of him his limbs had turned to jelly. The man turned back to Harry with a growl that sounded similar to the cruel laugh he knew to well. The man moved with the stealth of a trained killer and with Harry still pinned beneath him took hold of her vulnerable neck with his fangs and pulled sharply producing a loud and ear shattering _snap_.

"NOOO!"

John raised his gun with military precision and fired off three rounds into the man's head. His body collapsed on top of Harry's with a loud thud. John's mind was spinning out of control amongst all the chaos. His cowardice had lead to death of his sister, his only fucking _sister_! He rushed over to the bodies now shifting back into their human forms. He grabbed hold of the man and violently tossed his lifeless body to the side.

"Harry, please, oh god no!"

He pulled her limp body into his lap and mindlessly searched for a pulse.

"Harry, no, nononono!"

He held her close to his chest, clung to her in desperation. As if his grip alone could contain her spirit inside, repair her neck, fix his mistake. With out his knowledge he began rocking back and forth chanting out her name through sobs. It was then that a large, furry, and warm body slowly moved beside him. Instinctively he raised his gun to it at lightening speed. The two golden spheres that looked down at him however belonged to one Sherlock Holmes who was now fully recovered from his wounds. John lowered his gun but not his gaze.

"Sherlock…I-I killed my sister."

He broke down into sobs once more and soon felt a large hot tongue lapping up his tears and snuggling in close. Admits all the destruction and turmoil, Sherlock attempted to comfort John, but somehow he knew that no amount of cuddles and kisses were going to make up for the piece John's soul that had been lost that day.

**SHIT! Well there you go, took forever to get this finished but there you go! I will try desperately to get the next chapter to you faster. Promise. PINKY promise. **


	17. Chapter 17

**Chp 17**

**A little FYI for you guys, the next chapter will be the last (I know, sadness) I just wanted to say that I have loved the comments and the fact that people have been enjoying this since I honestly didn't think ANYONE was going to read it. It's going to be more of an epilogue sort of thing so if there is anything by the end of this chapter that didn't happen in the story/didn't happen enough in the story just let me know and I'll try to work it in some how (maybe if there are a lot I can split it into two chapters, but I'll just wait and see how many people even comment lol). There will be angsty SMUT in this chapter so be warned! **

The service would have been boring, completely pointless, and not worth attending by any means, if it hadn't been for John. Sherlock would never have told John how trite he found funerals in response to whether or not he'd be attending. No, in fact he had felt mortified when John announced the date and said that if he planed to attend then he'd have to be bathed and dressed properly, otherwise to stay out of trouble until he returned._ If_ he planed to attend. It struck Sherlock that he had underestimated just how accommodating John could be, he allowed Sherlock to be Sherlock even when dealing with the death of a close family member. He knew that there was no way he'd let John be alone at such an event. It was something people did, comforted their loved ones during such tragedies. The only problem was that the Holmes family weren't 'people', they were another breed entirely. They were based in clever schemes and manipulation, not love and support. Sherlock found that he was most adept in almost any situation; accept ones that pertained to John. It was infuriating. He knew he'd need someone by his side though, tensions were running high amongst the Watson's and it was all centered at John.

The family had wanted to bury Harry and the man next to each other near John's grandfather, John refused. There was no way he was going to allow that to happen, there was just _no way_. With a little help from Mycroft, Sherlock was able to make sure they weren't even buried in the same graveyard, and most certainly didn't allow a joint funeral. So of course they were angry with John, the sods. Sherlock wanted to tear them limb by limb. Some of them were just idiots, the rest were monsters. John's mother seemed too timid to come speak with John, which was good because Sherlock was sure that John would be upset if he had smacked his mother at his sister's funeral. Although, some anger might be a nice change of pace.

After the initial incident of her death, John hadn't cried once. In fact, he hadn't done anything. He didn't get angry, or frustrated, or happy, or sad, or anything. He just went about his business. He hadn't even yelled at Sherlock for making such a dumb decision which was customary after such an event. Sherlock tried to cheer him up by insisting they watch all the Bond movies with Lestrade at the hospital. John just said that Greg probably wasn't up to it, which was probably true, but then Sherlock really hadn't been thinking of it for Lestrade's benefit. He didn't even bother to scold Sherlock in the past two weeks, not even when he'd told Mycroft there was no way he'd attend some boring funeral for a man he'd barely known, even if he did help save his life. John didn't say a word, didn't even blink, just sat and stared. Sherlock wanted more than anything to hear John yell, to chastise, tell him he was being childish and that they'd be going. Not a word. When the day of the funeral came he simply got ready silently and left, Sherlock tagged behind him wanting to see how the proceedings might affect John. There was nothing.

He focused his attention back on the John Watson sitting before him and tried to see if perhaps the ceremony was eliciting any response. Still a blank stare, not a vacant one, just one devoid of emotion. Sherlock was tempted to reach out and poke it, see if he touched it; it would crack, and reveal that it was not John's face at all, but a mask. Which he supposed it was, it was the same one Sherlock had used for so long. There was something unnatural about it being on John though. Then they had called John to say some words, Sherlock watched carefully as the smaller man made his way up to the podium standing a meter or two behind Harry's casket. He pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper from his pocket and read it with the most monotone voice Sherlock had ever heard him use. It was worse than if the man had broken down and cried on stage. There was something tragic in how John was forcing himself to stay composed, refuse himself any sort of emotional release. Sherlock just wanted him to snap out of it, he just couldn't think of how. Mycroft was useless as usual, recommending therapists. Sherlock knew John well enough to know that he'd never open up to some therapist. Maybe Lestrade would know what to do when he was better, John and him would go down to the pubs regularly, John had claimed it was a good way to talk about things. Sherlock had never liked the idea of the two of them, alone, with alcohol…but he trusted John and he was desperate at this point. John finished up his simple speech on how Harry was a good sister; how it was a shame he hadn't gotten to know her better, that she would be missed. No one seemed to care much for what he had to say, other than Clara who had slipped into the back at some point earlier on.

The ride back was one of silence and sorrow. Sherlock wanted to comfort him, but without John to tell him how…he was lost. John stared straight ahead with the same steely gaze he'd had since that night. This was horrible, he had gone to save John, and in the end he had broken him. If he hadn't been so cocky he might have asked for some backup, maybe then Harry wouldn't be dead, and John would be ok, he would be John. Perhaps the reason he was acting this way was to drive Sherlock away, punish him for what he'd done. It seemed very unlike John, but then Sherlock had cost him an awful lot. There was no way Sherlock could ever make up for such a loss, he knew. As much as he hated to admit it, if it had been Mycroft he wasn't sure what he would have done, maybe the same as what John was doing now. Hard to say, Sherlock found it hard to believe he could ever be so cruel to John.

When they arrived back at the flat John headed towards his bedroom without a word. He hadn't even taken his shoes off which of course was highly unusual given the times Sherlock had been scorned for doing just the same. This was too much; this was too much _not_ John. He needed to do something, he needed to stop this. If John wanted him gone, then he'd need to hear the words leave his lips. He reached out one bold hand and grabbed hold of John's shoulder.

"Enough. John, that's enough. What is it, what do you want to say to me? I know you must think me smart enough to deduce it myself but I'm not. I need you to tell me what it is that you want me to do. Do you want me to leave, I will understand, if you blame me I would…I'll leave, you won't have to hear from me ever again."

John stood for a moment in continued silence before he began to shake slightly. Sherlock feared that he had enraged John at his lack of deductive skills; that he hadn't wanted to speak to him about this. Perhaps he had just wanted him to leave with out bothering John.

"John? What is it?"

John turned slowly to reveal that he was now crying, tears streaming down his face. He reached forward and grabbed hold of both of Sherlock's shoulders.

"Don't leave."

With that he brought Sherlock into a tight embrace, burying his head into Sherlock's lean chest. He let the sobs overrun his body and he clung to Sherlock as if his life depended on it. In return Sherlock raised his hands and placed them on John's back and would occasionally pat him softly. He rested his chin on top of John's head and waited for him to let it all out. Normally Sherlock would be very unsettled by the thought of someone crying in his presence, but somehow this was the only thing he wanted at the moment. John to finally release everything that had been building over those two tortures weeks.

"I-I'm sorry Sherlock, I didn't mean to make you feel responsible for how I've been acting. I would never blame you…this is my fault. I-I let her die. If I hadn't been so-"

He was once again filled with uncontrollable sobs and pressed his face deeper into Sherlock's chest. Sherlock moved his hands from John's back and placed them on his broad shoulders. He abruptly pried John from his torso and stared down into the older man's wide eyes filled with guilt and grief.

"Don't you dare blame yourself John Watson, don't you ever dare pretend that this was your fault. _I_ initiated the attack on the Moriarty's, _Harry_ decided of her own free will to join us there, and it was _the man_ who killed her. Ok?"

John nodded his head and stared down at his shoes. He obviously wasn't very convinced. Sherlock couldn't believe that John had been feeling this way the whole time and it never occurred to him. Of course John blamed himself; he always took responsibility for everything. One of his more endearing, and annoying, character traits.

"Listen John, I'm not very good at this whole comforting…process, but I will try my best. If I do or say anything wrong, feel free to slap me. The physical aggression will probably help relieve some of your anxiety anyway…I just-you should stick to the facts John. The facts are that you're not the one that lead to the events in which brought us to that place, and you are not the one that broke Harry's neck. In conclusion, you are not responsible for her death."

John shook his head and let out a few strangled cries.

"No-I-I could have stopped it, I was right there; I was just so…scared. I let her die because I was too afraid, because I was too much of a coward."

His shoulders sunk and he let a few idle tears drop to the floor. The man was lucky that he was dead, because it was the only thing preventing Sherlock from killing him. It took a lot to scare John Watson, and there was a special place in hell for people who caused such fear. Worst of all though, he let John feel as if his fear was a personal failing, rather than an affliction brought on by a deranged pervert. He cupped his hands on John's face and lifted the smaller man's chin so that he would have to look into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock gave him a stern look and rubbed some tears away with his thumbs.

"You are no coward. I will not let you go about pretending to be one. Nor will I allow you to continue to feeling as if this is your fault. And I'm not commanding you to do so as your master, I'm telling you to do so as someone who loves you."

John nodded his head slightly within Sherlock's hands. He closed his eyes and a few more tears flowed out from beneath his lids. Sherlock leaned down and placed kisses on each of John's eye lids, his forehead, his cheeks, the corners of his mouth, and along the length of his jaw. When Sherlock straightened back up he looked down to see that while John had continued to allow a slow trickle of tears roll down his cheeks he also had a weak smile.

"I love you too."

He brought his hands from Sherlock's shoulder blades to the back of the taller man's neck. His smaller fingers threaded through the curls that resided there and slowly brought Sherlock back down for a slow chaste kiss on the lips. They moved together in slow motions, soaking in the other's texture. Sherlock moved in rhythm with John's fastening pace. It was so wonderful to see, to feel, and to smell John again, being the real John. He felt a slow tentative tongue brush across Sherlock's bottom lip, begging for permission. Sherlock was happy to comply, gradually opening his mouth and allowing access. John gently inserted his tongue and began to use slow swiping and swirling motions. Sherlock let out a low moan as their two tongues came into contact and quickly reciprocated John's actions. John pulled Sherlock even closer so that he could deepen the kiss further, taking full possession of the taller man's mouth.

The two stood there intertwined in each other's embrace for about fifteen minutes and with each passing moment quickening their pace just slightly, and letting their hands explore the body in front of them little by little. At some point Sherlock managed to un-tuck John's button down and place one curious hand on John's lower abdomen. John had also loosened Sherlock's button down free but allowed his hands to rest at his lower back, finger tips slowly working their way underneath the younger mans pants. Sherlock's free hand moved from John's cheek to his chest and steadily begun undoing the older man's buttons.

"Sherlock"

John breathed out in between kisses. Sherlock moaned in response and began rubbing his hand on John's now exposed chest. John ran his hand up from under Sherlock's pants to his back and began to stroke the smooth skin. Sherlock pressed closer to John seeking more friction. Wanted more access to the smell that was rolling off him, whatever it was that John gave off it most certainly was becoming more potent by the second, and Sherlock could feel it taking hold of him quickly, numbing his mind. John then in a firm motion brought his hands to Sherlock's belt buckle and gave a strong pull sending their two groins into contact. Sherlock took in a sharp intake of breath and John let out a low _uh_.

"Bedroom?"

John asked quietly and Sherlock quickly responded by grabbing hold of the smaller man's hand and leading him up the stairs into John's room. He had never had sexual relations with another person, he had never seen the point, and right now he was cursing himself for being so inexperienced. The last thing he wanted was for John to realize this was Sherlock's first time though, he didn't want to stop this, and he had a feeling John would bring things to a grinding halt if he new that he was about to take Sherlock's virginity. He tried to pull up any knowledge he'd picked up over the years pertaining to sexual encounters. John on the other hand seemed to be running on auto pilot, he carefully removed Sherlock's Jacket and his own and then lowered the two of them onto the bed. Sherlock took in the sight of John as he lay spread out underneath him but quickly pressed his lips onto the older man's as he didn't want to appear hesitant. In truth though he was becoming both very caught up in his motions and confused by them. He understood kissing, he had seen it, but he had not witnessed two men engaged in actual intercourse. Worse was that John seemed to be taking the more submissive position, which both excited and terrified him, this implied that it was up to Sherlock to take the lead. He wasn't sure if he could live up to the challenge, but he also was keenly aware that there was no way he could back down. This was far to intoxicating for him to ever stop. The press of their lips, the feel of their tongues slipping against each other, pressure of their two growing erections, and of course John's strengthening scent.

John had managed to slip out of his shirt and was quickly doing away with Sherlock's. He shivered slightly when the cool air met his smooth skin and it seemed to produce a small shiver from John as well. The feel of their bare chests on top one another was an experience he planned to remember forever, store it safely away in his mind palace. Sherlock tried to take John's lead and began making fast work of John's pant's belt. John responded by doing the same for Sherlock. The two of them removed the other's pants while rarely breaking away from passionate kisses. Then in an instant it seemed they were finally both naked and entangled in the bed. Their now exposed erections rutted against each other with intensifying friction. John's breathing was becoming heavier and he kept releasing the most delicious of scents making Sherlock feel light headed and…yes just a bit high.

John soon took hold of one of Sherlock's hands which was gripping onto John's hip. He let it drag across the length of his body causing Sherlock to shudder with pleasure. Then once his hand had made it to John's lips, the smaller man took his middle and index fingers and slowly enclosed his mouth around them. Sherlock gasped at how erotic the sight was, and just how remarkable it felt to have that hot mouth wrap around his digits. John proceeded to suck the two fingers down one knuckle at a time, all the while swirling his tongue around each one. Sherlock let out a low moan and John responded with an equally low grunt that ran straight through Sherlock's fingers down to his throbbing member. John finally released the fingers with one last flick of his tongue over the tips.

"Fuck, John"

Sherlock panted. John smiled then spread his legs wider and lifted his hips ever so slightly, pressing their erections even closer together. _Oh_. With sudden clarity Sherlock realized what was being asked of him. He lowered his moist digits down to John's entrance and slowly traced the outside of the hole with his index finger before gingerly pushing forward with it. John jerked up at the intrusion forcing their penises to slide against each other once again in a rough manner. It produced low guttural noises from the two men and only persuaded Sherlock to go deeper. He wriggled the finger around John's inside, loosening him in preparation. John pressed into the finger with a breathless cry, affectively allowing Sherlock to finger fuck him. Sherlock worked in his middle finger and quickly began scissoring the two digits inside of John. John writhed beneath him beautifully and Sherlock soaked in the delicious scents and sounds that John was emitting.

"Sherlock, I-_Oh god_-I need more!"

Sherlock smoothly removed his two fingers and pushed himself up so that he could affectively edge his penis right against John's puckered hole. With one swift motion He thrust himself forward into John's entrance. He was overcome with an onslaught of sensations as he felt the unyielding stretch of John's insides as he pressed himself in completely. He let out what could only be described as a pained growl as came to a stop. He sat there unmoving, eyes shut tight, for a few beats as he tried to process the overwhelming bliss that he was feeling. Without warning John began shifting himself, moving himself up and down Sherlock's length. Sherlock let out another growl and quickly held John in place by his hips. John lay trembling with desire beneath him. He finally reopened his eyes to look at the shaking man, and knew instantly that his eyes were now a bright gold.

"Jesus Sherlock you look…"

Sherlock wasn't sure he wanted to hear how that sentence ended. He was sure his animalistic nature was frightening John now, more than likely He had compared Sherlock's intensity to the ferocity of the man. He prepared himself for the inevitable dismount and walk of shame. John would probably want to end this now, want to leave him.

"So hot."

He finally moaned as he pulled Sherlock down for a sloppy kiss. Sherlock felt an instant surge of yearning at those words, and a sudden feeling of overpowering love for this little doctor. He should have know better, John would accept him no matter what, that was just another thing that made John, John. Sherlock finished the kiss with a flick of his tongue along John's teeth, producing a loud groan from the older man. He sat himself back up and tightened his grasp on John's hips. He pulled out and thrust back in with quick repetition. His pumping becoming more intense and drawn out with each passing moment. John was trying to move against him, create more friction, but Sherlock pinned him to the mattress. He began bottoming out with an audible smack which generated a loud gasp from John each time. The doctor's smaller hands fisted the bed sheets desperately as he tried to hold back from screaming out. He could tell he was smacking against John's prostate by the way his muscles quivered at each thrust. That and the way his engorged penis was leaking profusely with precum. The smell John was giving off was driving Sherlock closer to the edge, and affectively numbing his mind while heightening all of his other senses.

"_John_! John, I-I'm going to…"

"So-_OH_-am I, _oh Sherlock_!"

His thrusts became more sporadic and less coordinated as they approached climax at an alarming pace. Sherlock felt himself so close his eyes were watering and his body was quaking with the need for release, he was so close. He hastily took hold of John's now practically weeping penis and began to stroke it frantically. John yelped and propelled himself into Sherlock's hand. The two of them held out for another minute through throaty moans and growls before they were screaming out in orgasmic bliss. Sherlock continued to pump John as well as thrust himself inside the smaller man throughout the orgasm. When it subsided Sherlock collapsed on top of John and laid there a while as he tried to regulate his breathing. They were hot and sticky, but Sherlock wouldn't have changed it for the world. Eventually he rolled off and lay on his side so that he could face John, who also turned to his side so he could face Sherlock. The Smaller man scooted closer and curled himself up, pressing against Sherlock's lean chest. After about ten minutes John cleared his throat.

"Thank you Sherlock…that-that was…"

"Good?"

John let out a soft chuckle and nuzzled Sherlock's chest with the tip of his nose.

"Yes Sherlock, very good."

"Are you…are you feeling better now John? Are you ok now?"

"No."

Sherlock's heart sank; he really shouldn't have assumed something as simple as sex could fix John. But he'd be lying if he said that he hadn't hoped it would. His head still felt numb from the effects of John's scent but it did little to soften the blow that he'd just taken. He had failed to help John; he knew he was no good at this comforting business…

"But I will…so long as you're here with me."

His heart burst. Sherlock moved his arms so that they were quickly wrapping themselves around John's frame and pulling him closer. He brought one hand up to slowly pet the back of John's head whilst he kissed the top.

"Always John…always."

**OMG, sorry if that was just a little too fluffy or whatever but I'm sorry I just can't fucking help myself! Sorry by the way about the delay, this was actually done a lot sooner but wasn't letting me access my docmanager, I don't know if anyone else had that problem but…yeah, I did. Next chapter should be the last like I said up top so if you've got any ideas I'd love to hear them!**


	18. Chapter 18

**Chp 18**

**FINAL CHAPTER! Enjoy! The few ideas I got were very nice indeed, seriously though….did. Not. Even. Think. About. Greg. So sorry Greg, so sorry. **

Of course Mycroft took Lestrade into their pack. The man was _obsessed_ with getting new recruits, especially capable ones. It made Sherlock sick to see how he pampered the man, made sure that he was comfortable with the new changes. Disgusting, how he catered to Lestrade's whims, outright disturbing how much effort he put out for someone as simple as Lestrade. He had even had the audacity to ask that Sherlock keep an eye on him at crime scenes, make sure his senses weren't overwhelmed. As if he didn't have hired help to take care of that! Sherlock's time was precious. He was in the process of making sure that John could adapt to _his_ new set of circumstances, a _far_ nobler cause.

It had been a month since he'd lost his sister and had learned Sherlock's secret, but he was still having trouble coping. Every once in a while he would go to call her as he used to on Tuesday nights, it was difficult, but he was managing. More troublesome though is he still got a bit anxious when Sherlock exposed his fangs, or if he threw a piece of furniture in a rage, and especially if he smelled him for too long. Not that he tried, just a subconscious thing, in fact he tried very hard not to. It was all so annoying though because John wouldn't admit that it made him anxious, Sherlock would just hear his heart beat quicken and catch a whiff of the fear that would come rolling off him. It infuriated him that he was causing John such discomfort, but how would he know what to do if John wouldn't tell him? Any time he asked John would say he wasn't bothered in the slightest and go off to take care of some make believe chore or errand. Avoidance, clearly. Did he think Sherlock was so dense?

At the moment he was in the middle of another one of a similar problem, similar in the fact that it related to Sherlock's affliction. He had gotten upset, perhaps even enraged, but honestly John was being so stupid! John just couldn't accept how incapable he was. He knew it must have come off rude or something, announcing that, but he was simply stating the facts. Sherlock was merely explaining to Lestrade that he would have to be more careful when apprehending criminals as he could now easily overpower them, and seriously injure them in the process. He continued to say that he would even need to be cautious in every day situations because humans sustained injury easily and were practically incapable of healing properly, clearly as so many of them obtained scars such as the one John received in combat, while werewolves like Sherlock had flawless skin (so long as they didn't become injured by anything with silver in it). After he had finished his explanation John became very quiet and continued to be silent for the rest of their meeting and the cab ride home. John was a human, a fragile human; he should have realized this by now, he couldn't have been that upset by Sherlock stating it. However he did seem to be becoming emotional over the whole ordeal, as soon as they'd returned to the flat John had stormed up the stairs. More of Sherlock's gig, but he had seen John do it as well on a few occasions.

Just then John emerged from his bedroom once more and went tromping down the stairs. Sherlock sat up straight quickly and turned to inspect John. He seemed to have quite a determined look on his face. Rather than making tea, as Sherlock would have suspected given he hadn't had one in the past two hours he'd spent pouting in his room, he made his way to the closet and retrieved his coat. It was relatively late on a full mooned night, John should no better. He wasn't ignorant anymore to the effects his scent had on Sherlock's kind, and he knew the effect full moons had on them as well. Was he really thinking of going out on his own? Simply madness.

"John? Where are you going?"

"Out."

"Well, I deduced as much. Out _where_?"

"To get some air."

With that he left in a huff and stomped down the stairs to the front door. Sherlock popped up to his feet. He had really left? He had been certain that after some questioning John would have thought through his actions, seen how ridiculous they were! He hurried over to his own coat and tossed it on as he made his way out the door. Once outside he could see John making his way down the street. Not far ahead at all, even given his fast pace. Sherlock kept a keen eye on John but also observed as the moon rose higher in the night sky. Why was he so stupid! Sherlock was a good block behind him now and John's scent was stronger than if a normal human was standing directly under his nose. Not only was it stronger though, it was…sweeter. It was more exciting, Sherlock could almost get high just from smelling John in his natural state, never mind during sex.

The scents of several werewolves were close by and it made him uneasy. He was already very close to shifting do to the presence of the moon, these wolves weren't helping matters. The last thing he wanted was some wolf coming after what was his. He quickened his pace just a bit, hoping not to keep too much of a distance between himself and the shorter man. John seemed uneasy himself, perhaps he was sensing Sherlock's closeness; they had been properly bonded for quite some time now. He didn't seem to take notice to Sherlock though, or at least he didn't seem to. He didn't turn to yell at him, which was customary. He did seem to become highly agitated however; he could sense it even from over a block away. Sherlock assumed that John must have been musing over the day's events and it was stirring his emotions. Perhaps Sherlock had said something more…something he didn't remember? No, impossible, it must be the conversation they had with Lestrade earlier. But really, could it _really_ be affecting John so? He wished John would just yell at him already so he could know what was bothering him so much about it, then he could apologize and John could go back to being his John.

Without warning John suddenly jerked into an ally way. Sherlock's eyes went as wide as dinner plates and he practically went into shock with how cold his blood became. With not a moment of hesitation he went sprinting towards the ally at full speed, which of course was monumentally faster with John's presence. Along the way his bones begin shifting into place which hindered his speed by only a miniscule amount. By the time he entered the ally he was full wolf (his record breaking transformation time was also due to his new bond with John) and he was ready to tear whoever snatched John to threads. God help the fool who thought they could hurt John Watson and live to tell the tale. Unfortunately (or, rather fortunately) John was perfectly fine, and alone, very alone. He tapped his left foot angrily and crossed his arms in an equally angry manner. Sherlock may have been wrong about John's noticing his company…

"Sherlock. What do you think you're doing?"

John spit out through his thinned lips. Sherlock shuffled on his paws nervously, for two reasons. Firstly, he had quite obviously only further offended John. Secondly he was now in his wolf form and unable of forming English words with his elongated snout, making matters worse he hadn't taken his clothes off in the rush so they were now laying shredded in the street, meaning if he were to shift now he'd be standing stark naked in an ally.

"Of course, of course you wouldn't have changed; you're always in such a rush to save your damsel in distress! Well I can take care of myself thank you!"

Sure John could defend himself, he was a soldier, but not when he came up against a wolf. No human was capable of that; wolves were stronger and faster in every way. That was just simple fact.

"Seriously? No, I'm tired of this whole 'wolves are better than humans' bit. You're a bloody tosser of a boyfriend you know that? My browning has been loaded with silver bullets for a while now for your information, and we both know that I am an excellent shot."

Sherlock stood in shock. Was John reading his thoughts? Maybe he was just very good at perceiving Sherlock's thoughts through his body language and sensing his emotions. Sherlock could sense how John felt so it only stood to reason John could sense his.

"Of course I'm reading your thoughts, I've been able to for the past two weeks. Only when you're in your wolf form of course, but that's how these things work I suppose."

No, that is not how these things worked. Not ever had it ever worked that way. Sherlock hadn't read of such an occurrence happening before (and he'd done an awful lot of reading on the subject matter of bonding ever since he'd met John). Perhaps this had something to do with John's oddly hypnotic scent.

"It's…not? Oh, I just…assumed. Let's get home so you can change, I don't want to get caught in an ally talking with a monstrous wolf, then people would definitely talk."

Sherlock followed closely behind him out of the ally and back down the street. This was actually exciting; he liked the idea of his and John's bond being more special than any other. He liked to think that they were already more in love than anyone else, although he knew that was highly illogical, he just thought it would be impossible for anyone to love someone so much who wasn't John.

"Well, that certainly helps in your favor."

John says it with a stern face but there's a hint of humor in his eyes. If Sherlock had been in human form he'd surely be blushing. He'd forgotten already that John could hear everything running through his mind. How embarrassing. Is this how normal people felt in his presence? He had been told on a number of occasions that he was a mind reader. Not true, but the sentiment was the same.

"Here's your scarf, at least that survived. Also I hope so, you deserve it, make me feel like a right fool sometimes."

John said retrieving the piece of cloth from the ground. Sherlock strained to keep is mind clear so as to refrain from letting John hear any more of his thoughts. More than likely they would just upset him further, he thought in such logical terms just as he spoke in them. John hated when he was so cold and logical.

"Not always."

Damn! Not for the first time Sherlock cursed his inability to stop thinking. . Once they'd reached the flat Sherlock took the opportunity to shift back quickly and revel in his returned security. No more John in his head, he could go back to thinking logically without concern.

"John, I'm sorry. Ok? I'm sorry I upset you by telling the truth, I will remember to lie to you in the future."

Problem solved. Although, perhaps not, as John seemed more than a little red in the face. Well shite, what did the man need to hear?

"Two things Sherlock. One, no, not ok. Don't lie to me; just try to be a bit less callous or thick headed. Just because I can't bare knuckle box with a giant wolf doesn't mean I'm incapable of protecting myself. And honestly, you had to bring up my scar as a weakness? Seriously, I think poorly enough of it already, I don't need you joining in-"

"I never referred to it as a weakness. I would never do that. I simply stated that human's skin did not heal properly all the time, _like_ your scar. I know you're capable John…just not _as_ capable. I can't help the facts; wolves are bigger, faster, and stronger."

"I suppose, just…try not to be such a dick about it, hmm?"

"Yes of course John, never again! Or, well, I hope not…well, I probably will, but I will do a better job of apologizing quicker and more affectively!"

John laughed (oh god a laugh! He lived for making John as happy as he was when he gave those perfect giggles) and then turned back to a deep blush. Oh no, what had he done, clearly John had become upset again. Sherlock was so horrible at these social interactions!

"Right, the second thing…you should probably put some…clothes on."

As John spoke his eyes raked Sherlock head to toe sending a shiver down both their spines. Sherlock then recalled that, yes, he was in fact naked.

"And that…bother you?"

He purred bringing about another delicious shiver from John.

"Just, uh, thought I'd mention it is all. Leaving you a bit…exposed."

Sherlock smiled, he liked that he had this affect on John, and he intended to fully exploit it. But first he had questions.

"John, before I take care of this situation could you answer me some questions? Such as how it is you do hear my thoughts, and is it just mine you can read, and is there anything else you can do?"

"Well, um, I hear them just a if you're speaking them, or well…it's sort of hard to explain. It's clear as if it's being spoken, but it's more like a duel line of thought running through my own mind. Also, no, just yours (and don't bother pretending that you're not happy to hear that, I read your thoughts earlier remember?). Nothing else really, I can tell how you're feeling, I can get a good sense of where you are even if you're out of sight…think that's it."

"Interesting…"

He stood there a moment in concentration, processing this new information. He stopped abruptly when coughed and motioned towards Sherlock's nakedness.

"Oh, yes, of course."

"Yes why don't get in your pajamas and we can head up to-"

John's sentence was cut short when Sherlock crashed his lips onto the shorter man's. He let out a muffled cry as Sherlock held him closely despite his struggling. John wriggled in his Grasp as Sherlock leaned him against the wall and pinned him properly while continuing to apply kisses on the resistant lips.

"Sherlock!"

"Hmmm, I like it when you say my name John."

He said as he applied kisses along John's jaw. The man let out a whiney breath and seemed to almost reluctantly lean into the touch. Sherlock ran his hands up and down John's sides eliciting tiny moans. No, moan wasn't the word…they were definitely more like whimpers, but more forced. He pulled away and observed John, this wasn't right, something was very off about this.

"John?"

John looked at him with dinner plate eyes and then it became painfully clear, John was frightened. How hadn't he smelt the fear, ugh, again obvious! He was far to caught up in John's scent. He backed away slightly giving John more room to move.

"John…did I…did I do something…not good?"

How many times could he screw up in one day! This was horrible, John was looking very small and it made Sherlock feel uneasy. He didn't like to see the doctor like this, under any circumstances.

"A-a bit."

He stammered but seemed to relax slightly, but just slightly. Sherlock moved himself away further to give John ample room to move about.

"What have I done? Tell me John, please, I don't like to see you like this."

John shifted the weight of his feet and then rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. He looked at his feet, then Sherlock, and then back to his feet.

"Never mind it, it's silly. You've done nothing wrong…I-I've got to got change the sheets."

John moved to make a hasty retreat up to the bedroom before Sherlock grabbed his arm as firmly as he could without harming John.

"No John, tell me right now. I've had enough of this; you've been like this for some time now. If you don't tell me what's bothering you then how can I fix the problem?"

"Sherlock I-it's not a problem you can fix; it's me, honestly its fine."

"It's not fine, clearly. Tell me, even if you think it won't help, just tell me anyway."

"Please, I don't want to upset you. Honestly it's not you, please just let it drop."

Obvious! Blatantly obvious! Sherlock was mimicking similar behaviors that the man had exhibited. Not the same but close enough that John's mind had drawn the comparison. He felt sick, why did he always have to cause John so much pain?

"Forgive me John…I will understand if you would like me to sleep downstairs tonight."

Sherlock hadn't slept in his old bed since the night John unknowingly took his virginity, but he'd do it in a heart beat if it meant John could sleep comfortably.

"No."

John nearly yelled the word. Sherlock froze in place; John seemed fairly distressed by the idea of sleeping without him. Odd given his recent revelation.

"John, if I'm not mistaken what I've done has reminded you of-"

"Don't, I-yes. What you did-it was…um, an unfriendly reminder. But not you as a person, never you, just the way you do things sometimes…honestly though, don't take it personally. It's been this way with all of my partners, even the women. Sherlock, it's just something I can't really help, it's going to happen sometimes…just, um, maybe warn me next time you plan to snog me senseless is all."

"I will John, of course, I-I seem to forget sometimes how you have been affected."

"It's ok, really. I'm used to it, sorry if I…I will try to restrain myself in the future. I just enjoy touching you."

His words brought a blush to his cheeks which he found was far too common around John. John just smiled in response and reach forward to take hold of Sherlock's hand.

"I like that too, very much."

Sherlock broke out into a large grin. It was foolish to think otherwise with how many times John would reassure him, but he always felt much better when John told him that he shared Sherlock's same sentiments. John squeezed Sherlock's hand and smiled wider before placing a soft kiss on the taller man's lips.

"You know what's funny, Mycroft warned me, told me you might be more dangerous with us bonded. Last week, kidnapped me (again) and said that my scent made you more powerful, perhaps even too powerful. He was blabbering on about how wolves in the immediate area were scared with how powerful you're. Guess you're putting off some sort of scent your self or something. He told me to call him if I needed help controlling you, if you got out of hand. But the only thing I've seen change in you is that you seem to have just gotten sweeter."

Sherlock had never been considered sweet, but it was fitting that John would be the one person to see him in the most positive light. But his brother had talked to John? He hadn't realized that he was putting off any scent…although he did feel more powerful. Not more dangerous though, he still knew there was no way he could harm John.

"Hmm, what did you tell him?"

"Ha, I told him that I could handle it, but maybe just to be safe I'd borrow that leash from Irene Addler. That certainly shut him up."

"Well I bet."

They both let out loud chuckles at Mycroft's expense. Then John reapplied the pressure on Sherlock's hand and began leading him up the stairs. It wasn't long before the detective found himself in the familiar bed with John's arms wrapped tightly around him. Sherlock placed tender kisses along John's jaw and on his lips. John slowly began to press kisses of his own on Sherlock's lips and soon they were exploring the crevasses of the other's mouth as if it was their first time. The older man let out a low moan as Sherlock shifted the weight of his hips along John's. Sherlock was already hard and John could feel it through the fabric of his jeans.

"John…"

John hummed into the spot of Sherlock's collar bone that he had begun to lick and suck, which apparently he couldn't tear himself away from.

"John."

This time the doctor looked up at him, gazing deeply into Sherlock's piercing gold eyes. Sherlock shivered at the intensity of John's stare before continuing on.

"I want you to know John; I am always here, for you to talk to. Don't feel as though you need to keep things from me."

"Of course, dear, never again."

With the tender, passionate way John applied his next few kisses Sherlock was certain that he had meant it. Sherlock and he lay there for quite some time, just kissing and soaking in the other's feel as if they were committing every sensation to memory. As if this could be the very last time they would be permitted to caress the flesh they craved. However, the notion was (to say the least) ridiculous, as they would be able to do so for a very, very long time.

**Hope you liked! I will be writing more stories soon. Not sure if I'll write a sequel to this or not though (really depends on if I can think of a good plot). I am currently working on another sort of scifi/supernatural thing that will include getting a good look at John as a kid. Hope you enjoyed the story as a whole, loved all the comments, thanks you guys!**


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